


Double-Edged Sword

by Dragonmaster



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Deception, Fingerfucking, M/M, Oral Sex, Sticky Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:50:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 83,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonmaster/pseuds/Dragonmaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of "One Shall Rise," Megatron decides the best way to ensure Orion's loyalty is to trick him into falling in love with him.  Little does he know that love is a double-edged sword, and his deception will have far-reaching consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There was so much wasted potential in the Orion Pax story arc... Megatron could have done so much more to manipulate Orion Pax, and convince him to stay by his side. Here's one take on how he might have done that. VERY ADULT CONTENT. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

Had this been Optimus Prime, he would have sensed he was being watched by now. Then again, had this been Optimus Prime, he wouldn’t be calmly scouring the archives aboard the Nemesis at the moment, hunting for coordinates for the precious relics of the ancients. Optimus Prime would have been fighting his way past Megatron’s troops, mowing down Vehicons and challenging Megatron himself if that’s what it took to regain freedom. The Decepticon commander liked to think that there was no way a single Autobot could escape his clutches so easily, but he had learned long ago not to underestimate this particular Autobot.

But this was no longer Optimus Prime. This was Orion Pax, an innocent young clerk who was simply humming idly to himself as he combed through the data files. And he was completely oblivious to the fact that Megatron, his former sworn enemy, lurked in the doorway, watching him.

The warlord let his thoughts drift as he watched Orion work, staying back in the shadows on the off chance that the mech thought to turn around. His decision to recruit this amnesiac Autobot to his side had been a completely impulsive one, an opportunity seized on the spur of the moment without considering what exactly he would do with him. With his strength, he could have made an impressive warrior… but whatever Unicron and the Matrix had done to him, it had wiped out all his battle programming and training along with his memory. And with his CPU reduced to his pre-war, pre-Optimus Prime state, he was useless as a source of information on the Autobots.

But even with his memory shot, his mind was still one of the most brilliant on Cybertron. And given his previous function as a worker in the archives at Iacon, having him organize and search the Nemesis’ database seemed like the most logical decision. Ironic, really, that it would be a Prime that would lead him to the Relics of the Primes. 

“Ah-ha,” Orion announced, softly but triumphantly, and a line of code on the screen flashed red. “Found you.” He turned and began making a note on a nearby datapad.

Megatron couldn’t suppress a satisfied grin. Not even a week had gone by and Orion had already uncovered the locations of at least three of the relics. Soon, very soon, he would have the weapons he needed to destroy the Autobots once and for all, and to rule Cybertron and remake it in his own image.

One problem remained, however, and despite his current glee at Orion’s finding he couldn’t push it completely out of his CPU. The Nemesis’ archives contained far more than possible locations for the artifacts – they were a history of the war itself. And Orion might be naïve, but he was insatiably curious – sooner or later he was going to have the urge to explore the records in-depth. The most sensitive files were locked, but Orion was clever enough to be able to unlock them if given the chance. If he ventured too deeply, he was going to uncover discrepancies between the abridged and altered history Megatron had given him and the truth… and Megatron would lose a valuable asset.

His claws tapped lightly against the doorway as he considered how best to avert such a disaster. He could always have Soundwave hack into the archives and either alter or delete the offending files, he supposed. But they couldn’t be sure that valuable information lay within those files, information that could lead to the relics or something even more valuable. And simply telling Orion those files were off-limits would be an immediate red flag – he would suspect something was being kept from him, and his curiosity would override any orders.

Megatron let his gaze wander over Orion as he puzzled over what to do. All things considered, he wasn’t bad-looking for an Autobot. He lacked the exotic flared armor typical of most Decepticons, looking more boxy and utilitarian, but he was still powerfully built and carried himself with a dignified grace even as Orion Pax. And his helm had those inviting-looking headfins, just asking to be toyed with. Had events of the past progressed differently, and their friendship had been allowed to progress to something more… perhaps Orion would have found himself Megatron’s bedmate instead of his mortal foe…

The answer was so unexpected, so simple, and yet so utterly perfect he had to clamp his jaws to keep from bursting into laughter. Of course. If he could ensure Orion’s loyalty to their cause, he could keep him happy enough that he wouldn’t go prying for information he didn’t need. And even if he did stumble upon incriminating information, he would be too bound to Megatron’s side and cause by that point to protest. It was perfect.

He wouldn’t buy the young mech’s loyalty, though. Oh no. Orion was not one to lust after wealth or power. But Megatron had… other means… to win him to his side.

He left off his skulking in the shadows and strode to Orion’s side, peering over his shoulder. “How fares your work?”

“I’m still a little rusty at this,” Orion confessed. “But I have uncovered four likely locations for the Relics of the Primes. With any luck, we can reach them before Ratchet and the Autobots do.” He gave a little shudder. “It’s still so hard to believe… that a medic could go so wrong.”

“Ah, yes,” Megatron replied, his tone thick with regret. “Who could have guessed that beneath that caring veneer he wore was the Doctor of Doom we all know and fear today?” He sighed and patted Orion’s shoulder. “Take spark, my young friend. We WILL stop him.”

Orion turned to look up into Megatron’s optics. “If there is anything more I can do to help you, Megatron, let me know. I’m not a warrior… but I will do everything in my power to stop Ratchet and restore Cybertron. This I vow with all my spark.”

Pleasure coursed through Megatron at hearing those words come from Orion’s vocalizer. “Thank you, my old friend,” he replied warmly. “That is most gratifying to hear.” His gaze moved to the hand still on the young clerk’s shoulder. It would be polite and professional to remove it now, he supposed… but he merely smirked and squeezed his shoulder lightly. “It has been so long… I missed you.”

“I missed you as well, old friend,” Orion replied, smiling up at him before turning back to the screen. “Perhaps when I’m not so busy, we can sit down and catch up on everything.”

“That can be arranged.” He kept his expression warm and friendly, but inside he smirked deviously as he rubbed his hand down Orion’s back.

“Megatron?” Orion frowned, shifting nervously under his touch. “What… are you doing?”

Megatron ignored him, sliding his hand down Orion’s spinal strut. He couldn’t help a soft chuckle of amusement as he heard the clerk’s fans hitch at the touch. So his sensor array was rather sensitive on his back… that was worth knowing.

“Megatron, I can’t concentrate on my work when you do that.”

“I know.” He let his hand drift lower, and Orion squirmed as he lightly brushed his claws against the small of his back. Idly he wondered just how far he could go before the young mech openly objected to his attentions. Or would he just continue to work and try to ignore him? That could be an interesting game…

Orion yelped and nearly jumped straight up in the air as Megatron rubbed his aft. “Don’t do that!”

“Why not?” Megatron asked, sounding put out as he cupped Orion’s backside in one hand. “You don’t enjoy this?”

His faceplates turned a bluish tinge as energon rushed to his cheeks in embarrassment. “It’s… making me lose my focus…”

“That’s part of the fun,” Megatron laughed, continuing to rub his aft while he reached up with his other hand to toy with a headfin. Orion gasped at the contact, involuntarily arching his back to press the headfin into his palm. Oh, he liked that, did he? Emboldened, he leaned forward, extending his glossa to lick up the length of the other headfin, chuckling as the mech in his grasp choked back a groan. He’d had no idea Optimus Prime was so responsive to being touched like this. Had he known this earlier, having him captive would have been so much more interesting…

“Megatron, please stop,” Orion said at last, pulling his head away. “I… I have to finish this file.”

Part of Megatron wanted to ignore him and keep going, even if it ended up with him fragging the young clerk against the console. He had every right to, after all – he was commander, and his word was law aboard this ship. But he merely chuckled and placed a light kiss against a headfin before backing away, letting his hands drop from Orion’s chassis.

“Of course,” Megatron replied, nodding. “It’s just… I missed you a great deal. In your absence, I realized just how very fond of you I’d become. Seeing you again… well, I couldn’t help myself.”

Orion’s optics flared brighter in surprise as he realized what Megatron was implying.

“I’ll leave you be, then,” he continued, “but perhaps we can have that meeting you wished for later. And see where it leads us.” And he shuttered one optic in a wink before turning to go.

He managed to walk out of audial-shot of the room before indulging himself in laughter. Innocent, naive Orion… totally oblivious to another mech’s attentions. He had probably never even kissed another mech in his life, let alone been subject to a thorough groping like that. Primus, he probably wouldn’t even know what a fragging was beyond what a dry textbook had taught him. Small wonder he was so shocked at another mech hitting on him like this.

Rather than being annoyed by his obliviousness, though, Megatron felt only a thrill at the challenge that lay before him. Courting the mech would be interesting, to say the least… and if he could get the young mech to fall in love with him, then so much the better.


	2. Chapter 2

With a sigh Orion marked where he’d left off in this section of the archives and closed the file, letting the computer console power itself down. Exhaustion was finally starting to take its toll, and he needed to stop for the night and go refuel and recharge. This search for the Relics of the Primes was just so fascinating, though, that he kept forgetting to take breaks. It was certainly far more fascinating work than he had been doing back on Cybertron.

Cybertron… it was so hard to believe it had been destroyed. Maybe the planet still existed, but it was a dead husk of a world now, corrupted and ruined by the one who had been one of the most respected medics among their kind. So much had gone on while he had been in stasis, and though most of the files on the war were restricted, what Megatron had told him to fill in the basics had been horrifying… and sparkbreaking.

He picked up the datapad containing his notes and subspaced it, then turned to walk back to his quarters. The one consolation he had was that perhaps his work would help Megatron restore Cybertron. Perhaps they couldn’t bring all the deceased back from the Well of All Sparks, but at least they could rebuild their homeworld, and give their kind a new lease on life. Perhaps that was another reason why he felt so driven to search the archives for signs of the relics – not just for the sheer thrill of the hunt, as it were, but out of desire to help his friend and, by extension, his world.

His friend… the passage of time had changed him. He seemed harder, colder, scarred inside and out by the war. That wasn’t exactly surprising – war was never kind to anyone touched by it – but even as a gladiator Megatronus had possessed a warmer side, able to smile and joke with others. Orion could tell that he was trying to act more like his old self around him, and he appreciated the gesture… but at the same time, he did wish he could do more to help his friend. It hardly seemed far that he could practically miss the war while his best friend had to suffer through it.

Perhaps when he was finished with the archives, he could request some combat training. He wanted to be useful in any way possible, and even if Megatron already had his Vehicon forces, surely one more soldier wouldn’t be turned down…

A moan interrupted his thoughts, making him freeze in place. Was someone hurt? He glanced around, but he seemed to be alone in this particular hallway. The only thing noteworthy was an open doorway… leading to the repair bay, if he remembered right. Well, he supposed if someone was in pain or damaged, they were at least in the right place for it to be taken care of…

Another moan drifted out of the repair bay, followed by heavy panting. Frowning worriedly, Orion hurried toward the door. That didn’t sound good. He wasn’t a trained medic, but there still had to be something he could do to help. Even if it was as simple as fetching tools or holding the injured mech’s hand while he underwent repairs…

The sight that met his optics froze him in place, and he could only stare in shock. Knockout sat on a repair berth, Breakdown kneeling before him with the medic’s legs draped over his shoulders. At this angle Orion couldn’t see what the larger mech was doing, but Knockout’s reactions made it all too obvious – he arched his back, moaning loudly, hands on Breakdown’s helm and fondling every ridge and seam. He almost looked in pain as he shuddered and vented heavily, his moans growing louder by the moment, but the expression of pure ecstasy on his face told an entirely different story.

Embarrassment flooded through Orion… embarrassment tinged with something entirely new and alien to him. He knew he should turn away, should leave and give these two some privacy, but his feet felt rooted to the spot. And some secret, shameful part of him didn’t want to look away…

Knockout caught his optic at that moment, and Orion flinched, expecting him to demand to know what he was doing or tell him to get lost. But the medic only grinned deviously, shuttering one optic on a wink, before losing himself once again in pleasure. Orion felt his faceplates heat up, both from the gesture and from Knockout’s complete and utter lack of shame.

“Aa-aaah… B-Breakdown…” Knockout arched his neck back, his venting deepening. “I-I’m going to…”

Orion finally wrenched himself away from the door and hurried off, almost running down the corridor. He wasn’t quite fast enough – a loud, ecstatic cry rang down the hall, letting everyone in their sector of the ship know precisely what the medic was up to at the moment. His faceplates blazed in embarrassment, though he couldn’t quite understand why seeing as it was Knockout who was announcing his overload for all the world to hear and not himself.

Slowing to a more normal pace, he continued to walk toward the ship’s rec room, where the energon dispensers were kept. He shouldn’t be this embarrassed by this, he knew. Mechs interfaced all the time. It was a perfectly normal and natural thing for two beings who cared for one another to do. He just… hadn’t ever seen a mech so open about that sort of thing that he would let his partner pleasure him with the medbay doors wide open. Or even do that sort of thing in medbay. It was more than a little shocking for him.

He was fully aware that he was clueless when it came to interfacing. He always had been – his creators had been rather prudish, not wanting to discuss such things around their sparkling. Any questions he had raised about the subject had been nipped in the bud or simply ignored. His sole experience with anything remotely approaching interfacing had been a make-out session with a fellow data clerk under the stairs of the archives. Back then it had seemed an illicit, exciting thing, but now he felt a little silly at how big a deal he had made of it at the time.

Even the other data clerks, a group not exactly known for their skills in the berth, had teased Orion several times for being so ignorant on the subject. On one occasion one of them had slipped a personal datapad into the stack he had been going through, and Orion had nearly fallen out of his chair in shock at finding the information he was scanning wasn’t a historical volume, but a guide on interfacing positions. He had flung the datapad across the table as if it were a live grenade, much to the amusement of the other clerks. 

He stayed in the rec room long enough to get a cube, then headed for his quarters. He felt rather silly for all this. Sure, he’d never seen a mech perform oral stimulation on another before outside of that one glance at that datapad years ago, but being so flustered about it was unproductive.

His mind returned to that encounter with Megatron earlier that day, and his faceplates heated up with an emotion that wasn’t quite embarrassment. Even now, hours later, his back and aft plates tingled where the larger mech had fondled them. He couldn’t help but think what would have happened had he allowed Megatron to continue, and had allowed himself to enjoy it more fully instead of pulling away.

And he wondered how it would feel if Megatron, like Breakdown, had been kneeling before him, his mouth right there…

He felt himself blushing all the hotter, as well as a funny warmth building between his legs. Ducking his head, he jogged the last few steps to his room and ducked inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. Only then did he allow himself to relax. If anyone had seen him in the hallway, blushing and half-aroused, he would have become a laughingstock aboard this ship…

“Are you all right?”

He nearly dropped his cube in shock, whirling to face the speaker. “How did you get in here?”

Megatron smirked. “I am the commander of this vessel. No part of this ship is restricted to me. Not even the personal quarters of my Decepticons.” He raised an optic ridge, his smirk shifting to a look of concern. “You look disturbed… is something wrong?”

“I-I’m fine,” Orion lied. “Just tired is all.”

“Are you sure? I worry about you, my friend. You work yourself too hard.”

Orion fidgeted, not sure what to say in response. He just wanted to drink his energon in peace and unwind from a long day. And with Megatron in the room, he couldn’t relax. Even though Megatron was one of his closest friends, he couldn’t help but be acutely aware of how… attractive… the mech was. He didn’t have the sleek grace and beauty of Knockout, but he had a rugged, almost savage handsomeness to him, and the sort of powerful frame that Orion had always covertly admired in other mechs. And given where his thoughts had been recently…

“I’ll be fine once I get some rest,” he finally decided on, and sat down in the chair at his desk. He downed his fuel in one gulp, barely tasting it. Maybe Megatron would take the hint about getting rest and leave…

“You’re aroused.”

Orion was briefly thankful that he’d already swallowed his energon, otherwise he would have probably choked on it or sprayed it across the room in shock. “What?!”

“Don’t think I can’t spot the signs,” Megatron chuckled. “The heat in your faceplates, the glow in your optics… it’s all too obvious.” His smile took on a knowing tilt. “Knockout had the door to the repair bay open again, didn’t he?”

Orion managed to nod. “A-again?” he stammered.

“Our medic is a notorious exhibitionist,” Megatron chuckled. “I would order him to keep the door shut during his trysts, but so far none of my troops have complained.” He crossed the room in a few strides, a slight swing in his hips as he moved to Orion’s side. “You saw the two of them interfacing, didn’t you? And it has you… bothered?”

If his faceplates grew any hotter he was sure they would start to melt. “Y-yes… though I’m not sure it was proper interfacing…” He clamped his mouth shut, not wanting to ramble about things he didn’t quite understand. “I’ll be fine… if I rest, it will go away.”

“Perhaps.” A sly smile crossed Megatron’s lip plates. “Though that’s a rather unpleasant way to recover from arousal. Perhaps you would feel better if I helped you.”

Orion stuttered in shock. “Megatron, you don’t—“

Clawed fingers lightly stroking up and down his back silenced him. “This is nothing to be ashamed of, Orion. These feelings are natural… and there is no shame in acting on them.” He leaned in close and kissed his helm, sending a tremor through the young clerk’s frame. “Let me help you. Let me show you that this is not only okay, but right.”

He couldn’t think straight, not with Megatron planting gentle, loving kisses on his helm and caressing his back. If his touches were meant to soothe, they weren’t working – if anything, they only sent his sensor array tingling anew, heightened the sudden heat and sensitivity beneath his panel. He opened his mouth, expelling hot air, his fans kicking in to try and cool his frame.

“Will you let me?” Megatron asked, his voice a soft rumble that sent pleasant vibrations through Orion’s body. “I will not touch your panel without your permission… but know that I want to help you.”

He tried to answer, and flushed anew in embarrassment when all that emerged was a soft whine. He nodded instead, giving him the go-ahead. He trusted Megatron… this mech had never hurt him before, and he had no reason to believe he’d hurt him now.

“Good… just relax. This will be pleasant.” He lowered himself just enough to kiss Orion’s mouth, lip plates brushing over the young mech’s, hands moving to explore his chassis.

Orion’s air intakes hitched as Megatron’s fingers traced sensitive seams on his sides, danced lightly over his back, moved up to rub at his neck cables. He seemed adept at finding every spot on Orion’s body that could give him pleasure, while Orion could only grasp helplessly at Megatron’s shoulders, as if by clinging to him he could keep himself from being swept away. Awkwardly he kissed back, the exotic feel of fangs against his lips and glossa sending a strange thrill through him.

Megatron reached up to rub the back of his helm, rubbing and tweaking a headfin. Orion groaned and shuddered at the touch, a jolt of pleasure streaking through his body. This was all too much… it felt so good, and yet it did nothing to relieve these feelings, only keyed him up even more…

“Open your panel,” Megatron murmured.

He couldn’t have disobeyed even if he wanted to. With a click, his panel came undone. Megatron grinned and slid it aside, chuckling as his digits traced the opening of his valve.

“Mega… Megatron…” Orion bucked at the touch, a shock of pleasure as keen as pain jolting through him.

“Hmm?” The Decepticon leader looked up at Orion questioningly, continuing to leisurely touch the very edges of his valve. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” He blushed at how quickly that had burst from his vocalizer, but it seemed as if he wasn’t in control of any of his systems anymore. “No… please… don’t stop…”

“As you command, Orion.” Megatron leaned down to kiss his neck, nipping slightly at the cables there, and pushed his fingers into the valve.

Orion arched back in the chair, crying out at the unfamiliar sensations searing through him. He had never had his valve touched before, not even by a medic... not even by himself. This was new and strange and completely wonderful…

“You’re releasing a lot of lubricant,” Megatron noted, rubbing the walls of his valve. “This is your first time, isn’t it?”

Orion tried to answer, but could only vent frantically.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised. “We’ll start small tonight… but it will still be memorable for you. I promise.” He nipped another cable, eliciting a groan from the young clerk, then moved back up to kiss his mouth, deeply this time. 

Orion shuttered his optics and wrapped his arms around the larger mech, letting himself go, not fighting the sensations coursing through him. Megatron seemed to sense this and kissed deeper, more passionately, moving his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm. His free hand continued to caress his helm, moving up every so often to stroke a headfin.

Something was building inside Orion’s chassis, an ecstasy he had never felt before. He felt as if he were losing control over himself, and yet he didn’t care. He simply surrendered to the rush of sensation, shuddering as the pleasure swelled inside him, climbing higher until he felt ready to burst from it…

“Let it happen,” Megatron murmured in his audial, voice low and soft and thick with an emotion Orion had never heard from him before. “That’s it…” He quickened his pace just slightly, exploring his valve, touching sensors that had been completely dormant up until this point. “Let yourself go…”

“M-M-Mega…” Orion couldn’t even get the full name out before something inside him seemed to… break… spilling open and flooding his body. A cry wrenched free from his vocalizer as he trembled with it, every sensor in his body flaring wildly at the rush of pleasure. Even his spark reacted, blazing hotly in his chest, soaking in the sensations that swept through him and held him in their thrall.

It seemed an eternity later when the wave of ecstasy faded away, leaving a feeling of utter content behind. He lay limply against Megatron, panting to cool himself, too exhausted to even close his legs or remove his arms from around his partner. His entire frame felt ultra-sensitive in the wake of his first overload, his sensory net buzzing, his valve throbbing. And yet for all that, there was a bliss underlying the exhaustion that he didn’t want to go away.

Megatron laughed softly and kissed his cheek. “Feel better, Orion? You’re such a mess.” He pulled his fingers from Orion’s valve, and only then was the young clerk aware of the slick pool of lubricant he had left on the seat of his chair. He blushed and tried to hide his face against Megatron’s neck.

“It’s perfectly normal,” the larger mech assured him. “Nothing to be ashamed of.” He reached into subspace and pulled out a cloth, reaching down to clean him up. “How do you feel?”

It took him a moment to find the wherewithal to reply. “Wonderful.” He gazed up at Megatron through half-lidded optics, too tired to open them fully. “What… what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Megatron assured him. “Tonight was for you.” He finished the cleanup and gently closed his panel. “Next time, however… I have so much more to show you.”

More… the thought sent a slight thrill through Orion’s spark. But before he could ask exactly what “more” meant, Megatron gathered him in his arms and set him on the berth, arranging him into a comfortable position.

“Rest,” he urged. “Tomorrow, we’ll have that meeting you wanted, and catch up more fully.”

Orion nodded. His body desperately craved recharge, but he forced himself to stay awake long enough to grasp Megatron’s hand and squeeze it. “Th-thank you…”

“You’re welcome.” Megatron leaned down and let his lips brush against Orion’s. The kiss was the last thing Orion was aware of before he finally slipped into slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of a transitory chapter than anything else. Also yes, Dreadwing and Hardshell have been brought in early, but this is an AU, I can change things up a bit...

Morning brought a crowd to the Nemesis’ rec room, with the Decepticons on board crowding around the energon dispensers to get their share, then dispersing to various tables and chairs to exchange gossip before reporting for duty. Vehicons and Eradicons sat together in loose groups to refuel and chat, while Insecticons gathered in little chittering knots here and there. Knockout and Breakdown simply collected their cubes and headed back to repair bay for a little solitude. Dreadwing, the new arrival aboard the ship, claimed a table to himself in the back and brooded over a cube, and the other mechs wisely gave him a bit of a berth. Airachnid was nowhere to be found – but then, she’d made herself wisely scarce after trying to take the leadership for herself and getting pummeled for it by Soundwave, and no one was too sorry to see her go.

When Megatron strode into the rec room, the mechs at the dispensers immediately scattered, and a path cleared that he might walk by unimpeded. Whether his troops were doing this out of respect or fear, he wasn’t sure, and to be honest he didn’t care. So long as they recognized his authority aboard this ship and acted accordingly, he was completely fine with it. And perhaps it was a bit of both, really – one had to instill a bit of fear in order to gain respect, after all.

Once he’d filled a cube he moved to his usual corner of the room to sit and drink, keeping an optic on his troops and making note of the goings-on among them. Contrary to popular belief, he was not ignorant of what went on among his Decepticons. He was no fool, and if he was to avoid any further treachery among his troops it was in his best interests to pay attention to their relationships and activities. At this point in the war he could ill afford another Starscream or Airachnid.

Dreadwing wasn’t mixing with any of the troops. That was to be expected – the Seeker had lost his spark-twin not long ago, and was bound to be moody and antisocial for a good long while due to that. At least that would guarantee that he wouldn’t waste time fraternizing with the troops, and would actually get something accomplished with his time.

Hardshell and his Insecticons seemed to be trying to interact with the Eradicons, but the Eradicons were shying away from them, intimidated by their size and bestial natures. For the best, Megatron figured – he wanted his troops to be effective fighting forces, not frittering their time away with gossip and such. Now if he could just get the Vehicons and Eradicons to do the same…

Speaking of which, he was going to have to crack down on his troops’ annoying new habit. In an effort to differentiate themselves from one another they had taken on names, eschewing their designation numbers in favor of actual titles. He wanted an effective, faceless fighting force, not a bunch of frat-mechs who would spend more time socializing than training.

Knockout and Breakdown were just about to leave the room when Orion appeared in the doorway. The medic and the data clerk exchanged a long look, neither speaking. Then Knockout abruptly broke out in a grin and winked before taking Breakdown’s arm and strolling off with him, deliberately strutting and swaying his hips as he walked. Orion ducked his head and hurried toward the energon dispensers, blushing visibly, and a ripple of laughter passed through the rec room before the gathered mechs returned to their fuel.

Megatron couldn’t suppress a chuckle of his own. Ah, poor innocent Orion… by his reaction to intruding on Knockout and Breakdown’s not-so-private moment, one would have thought he’d walked in on a sparkbonding. He had known Orion was a little naïve before, but surely even an inexperienced data clerk would have had some knowledge, even second-hand, of interfacing and other means of pleasuring another mech. Slag, he had to have at least looked at a porn holovid sometime in his life, even if that sort of thing was generally the closest a clerk ever got to getting laid.

But last night, enjoyable as it had been, had proven otherwise. Orion was almost as ignorant as a sparkling in these matters. And while pleasuring him Megatron had been surprised to feel his seal still intact. He would have thought that, as Optimus, he would have no dearth of potential partners, but either his duties as Prime had prevented him from taking a bedmate or his naiveté had turned into prudishness as time had gone by. Probably a bit of both was likely.

The realization didn’t dim Megatron’s mood in the slightest, however. It just made this all the more exciting. Unlike some mechs who disdained having a less experienced lover, he found a certain thrill in educating a more innocent partner in the ways of interfacing. It made the conquest all the more delicious… especially when said partner was willing to put his lessons into practice. 

He finished off his cube, letting his mind wander to last night. While it had been enjoyable watching Orion writhe in pleasure under his touch – Primus, he was gorgeous when caught in overload – last night had left him just as aroused as the young clerk when all was said and done. It had taken all his willpower not to throw him onto the berth and take him then and there. But he had gritted his fangs and restrained himself until he had gotten to his quarters and taken care of the matter there. Self-pleasure was a poor substitute for a proper ‘facing session, but it got the job done.

It had been far too long since he’d had a decent partner, he realized. Despite all the stories that the Autobots liked to circulate, painting him as some sort of animal who ravished any mech he came across, he liked his partners willing. And though there had been any number of Decepticons who would have willingly allowed him to bed them, most of them simply saw interfacing with him as a means to an end – gaining some sort of position of power. The last good frag he’d gotten had been with Starscream, oddly enough – despite the two of them hating each others’ internals, their bouts of angry hate-sex had been among the most blistering-hot sessions he’d ever experienced. Strange, given that the two of them couldn’t get along outside the berth, but there you had it.

Megatron allowed a smile to cross his faceplate as he watched Orion collect his cube and look around the room for a place to sit. Perhaps this unofficial mission of his could settle two issues at once. Not only could Orion locate the relics for him, but he could stay on as Megatron’s personal assistant even after they had recovered all the artifacts. It would be nice to have a steady bedmate for a change… one that wouldn’t ‘face him only to turn around and stab him in the back later.

Orion caught Megatron’s optic at that moment, and he smiled welcomingly and patted the chair beside his. The clerk blushed again but nodded, and he bypassed Hardshell to take the open seat.

“How are you this morning, Orion?”

“Doing well,” Orion replied. “I was just about to report to the database and resume my search. I have a good idea where another relic could be located, but I want to double-check my facts.”

Inwardly Megatron chuckled at how eager Orion was to find the relics for him. It was good to have a loyal, enthusiastic soldier for a change. But he didn’t let that show, only cocked his head to one side and regarded the young mech with an air of concern.

“You work yourself too hard,” he said softly. “Why not take today off?”

Orion shook his head. “I’m fine, really. And the sooner I can find the artifacts for you, the sooner we can stop Ratchet from exploiting this world.”

“Stopping Ratchet is indeed important,” Megatron acknowledged. “As is making sure the relics of the Primes do not fall into his hands. But I don’t want my friend to burn himself out for the cause.” He patted his back. “Take today off. Find something to read for pleasure, or spend some time in the training room. Let your CPU rest a bit before you tackle the archives again.”

Orion sighed but nodded. “Very well… I’ll see if I can find something to keep myself occupied.”

“You make it sound like a chore,” Megatron laughed. “If you find yourself bored, you can always find me. I can find something to entertain you.” And he deliberately laced his tone with a great deal of promise, enjoying watching Orion blush and duck his head shyly. “Go on… I have things to do, but we’ll talk later.”

Orion stammered a quick goodbye and hurried out, avoiding looking directly at any mech. A few chuckled as he left, but most simply ignored him. The former Prime had become such a fixture to their base that no one so much as blinked anymore when he walked past.

Megatron finished off his energon and stood, ready to see to his own duties for the day. But a silent nudge over the radio made him pause.

_GETTING TOO CLOSE._

Megatron frowned and turned to regard Soundwave. The masked mech was watching him from the far corner of the room, almost hidden behind the hulk of an Insecticon. 

_You agreed to this plan, Soundwave,_ Megatron reminded him. _You told me yourself that we would need to earn Orion’s loyalty in some fashion. And only now do you object to the plan?_

Soundwave’s visor flickered briefly, almost like an expression of concern. _AGREED TO RUSE. BUT ADVISED CAUTION. GETTING TOO CLOSE. TOO FAST. TOO MUCH RISK._

Risk? Megatron smirked in Soundwave’s direction, and a few Eradicons who thought said smirk was aimed at them shifted uncomfortably and quickly found somewhere else to be. _The only thing we risk is Orion falling for me, which was the intended effect of this ruse, was it not?_

AGREED. Soundwave’s visor flickered again, holding an image of Orion on it before it faded to black again. _BUT RISK OF RECIPROCATION._

Reciprocation? Megatron outright laughed. _You think I’m going to fall for a naïve young Autobot data clerk? I’m not a newbuilt with romantic notions, Soundwave. I can handle myself._

Soundwave cocked his head, not seeming so sure. But he didn’t argue. _CAUTION ADVISED NONETHELESS. LASERBEAK WATCHES ORION. ENSURES HE AVOIDS FORBIDDEN SECTIONS OF SHIP._

Well done, Soundwave. Keep me appraised of his whereabouts, and inform me if anything suspicious happens. 

AS YOU COMMAND.

Megatron nodded and strode out of the room, heading for the bridge. At least with Orion aboard, he had one more loyal soldier under his command along with Soundwave and Dreadwing. That was far more than could be said of many other mechs.

***

Ratchet sighed heavily and tossed the wrench he’d been trying to clean back into his toolbox. It was no use. Everything he did to try to distract himself was futile. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get that image of Optimus’ face out of his CPU… the image of his leader and friend looking at him in utter terror, without a scrap of recognition, before following his mortal foe through the groundbridge.

Ever since Optimus had abandoned the Autobots, Ratchet had been taking charge in his absence. For the most part their activities had mostly centered on keeping their base secure and occasionally venturing out to mop up Dark Energon deposits that had been thrust to the surface by Unicron’s death throes. Everyone tried to go on with their lives, acting as if nothing had changed… but it was difficult when the one thing that had kept the Autobots going, the calm and comforting presence of their Prime, was gone.

A soft beep nudged him out of his depressing thoughts, and he turned to see a familiar yellow form lurking in the doorway.

“Come in, Bumblebee,” he told the warrior. “Don’t just skulk. You know I don’t like that.”

Bumblebee nodded and hurried in, doorwings waggling with every step. Of all the mechs here, Bee had taken Optimus’ absence the hardest. The young mech had looked up to the Prime, and had even been willing to venture into the darkest recesses of Megatron’s mind to save his life. For him to abandon the cause now, even if it was due to amnesia and Megatron’s manipulation, could not be easy for him.

“I thought you were taking Raphael back home,” Ratchet said with an arched optic ridge.

Bee beeped.

“I’m not sure I trust Wheeljack to deliver him safely.” He still didn’t trust the rogue Wrecker, even if he had been stopping by on a regular basis to pitch in and help where needed. “Why are you here instead of with your friend?”

Bee responded.

“I’m fine, Bee,” Ratchet insisted. “I don’t need any help.”

Bee shook his head, beeping reproachfully.

“Don’t lecture me, youngling,” he snapped. “I’m four times your age AND your commanding officer. That demands some respect.”

Bee gave him a look that clearly showed he was not impressed by Ratchet’s attempt to pull rank, and beeped a reply.

“I know I work myself too hard,” he retorted, “but that comes with being a leader. I’ll be fine. Just resume your normal duties. That will be the biggest help.”

Bee gave him a worried look, and he placed a hand on the medic’s arm, giving a soft coo.

“I know,” Ratchet murmured, sighing softly. “I miss him too.”

An inquiring chirp.

“I don’t know what they’ll do with him,” Ratchet replied. “I doubt they’ll kill him – even without his memory, he’s too valuable to them. I worry that they’ll turn him against us… make him fully one of them.”

A beep of protest.

“I’d like to think so too… but we don’t know how much of his memory is gone. He could be a completely blank slate by now, something Megatron can mold to suit his own whims. He’s already gotten Optimus terrified of us.”

Bee beeped again, and patted his arm.

“You seem so sure we can get her back, when two attempts so far have failed,” Ratchet grumbled. “Megatron’s bound and determined to keep him.”

Bee beeped insistently.

“I hope you’re right.” He sighed. “Go check the perimeter, will you? We can’t afford to let our guard down.”

Bee nodded, and he hurried off.

Ratchet sighed and turned back to his toolbox, trying to distract himself. Bee seemed so sure they could rescue Optimus. His optimism might have been admirable… but Ratchet had spent too many years seeing hopes be crushed, over and over. Bee might believe that they could get Optimus back, but Ratchet wasn’t at all sure.

He began sorting his tools, hoping to distract himself. He simply hoped that whatever Optimus was doing, whatever Megatron was telling him to believe, he was at least happy.


	4. Chapter 4

Orion gave a sigh of exasperation and put the datapad in his hands back on the shelf. When he’d looked at the schematics of the Nemesis and found it contained a small library near the main living quarters, he’d been excited beyond belief. But so far every datapad he had pulled out had been a weapons guide, training manual, or battle tactics. What kind of library didn’t even have proper literature, or a historical text, or even some sort of light, entertaining reading? No wonder Knockout and Breakdown were going at it all the time – ‘facing seemed to be the only form of entertainment available to them.

Idly Orion wondered if the Hall of Records had survived the war. He felt a little guilty worrying about the welfare of books and datapads when many good mechs had perished in the fighting, but at the same time it would be a terrible loss if all that information and history had been destroyed. Perhaps he could convince Megatron to let him go back and check at some point.

He reached up for one of the higher shelves, snagging another datapad. Maybe they kept the good stuff on the top shelves. That was often the case in the Hall – the head archivists tended to keep the more classified or controversial material on the high shelves, as if thinking that would keep it out of reach of the clerks. Naturally, the only function that served was for the clerks to immediately identify everything on a top shelf as “the interesting stuff…”

“While you’re up there, can you grab me that blue ‘pad?”

Startled, Orion jumped back from the shelf. The datapad fell from his hands, and would have struck the floor had a pair of clawed hands not reached out to snatch it.

“Whoops, sorry,” the Vehicon said sheepishly, handing the datapad back. “Didn’t mean to spook you.”

“You’re fine,” Orion replied, taking the datapad. He couldn’t help but stare a little at the masked soldier, though. The Vehicons and Eradicons had never spoken to him before, and he had begun to assume that they were little more than drones, existing only to take orders from Megatron. Knowing that they were indeed sentient, and could talk to those outside their ranks, was actually rather gratifying.

“Um… could you get that blue ‘pad for me?” the Vehicon requested again. “I can’t quite get to it. Short and all, and someone keeps runnin’ off with the ladder.”

“Certainly.” He reached up, found the datapad, and handed it down to him.

“Thanks,” the Vehicon replied. “They always keep the good stuff up top. It’s annoying.”

So it was like the archives back home. “If you ever need something and can’t get to it, come find me. I’m Orion Pax, by the way.”

“Really? Thanks! And seen you around some, Orion. Megatron’s new data clerk, right?” He touched his chest. “Name’s Mike.”

Orion raised an optic ridge. “Did you say… Mike?”

“Yeah.” Mike bobbed his head. “It’s weird, I know, but I like it. Even if it is a human name.”

“Human?” That just puzzled him even more. “Aren’t those the… creatures… that the Autobots are allied with?”

“Yeah… they’re funny little critters. But some of their culture is just fascinating. And some of us have decided we want names of our own, so we picked human ones. They just appeal to us.” He looked down at the datapad in his hands, then back up at Orion. “So what brings you here? Thought Megatron had you workin’ the archives.”

“He suggested I take today off,” Orion replied, looking down at the datapad in his hands. He smiled unexpectedly at his find – a collection of myths and ballads about the Firstforged! This would make for interesting reading…

Mike shuffled his feet a bit. “Hey… you wouldn’t mind joining us, would you? Just for a change of pace?”

Orion cocked his head. “You want me to spend time with you Vehicons?”

“If you want to,” Mike said, ducking his head as if shy. “We don’t bite, honest. But I understand if you’d rather not spend time with us… I know no one really pays attention to us, and I can’t really blame them, we’re not the most exciting bunch to be around…”

Orion couldn’t help but chuckle at the rambling Vehicon. “Mike… it’s okay. I’d be happy to spend time with you and your friends.”

“Really?” Even through the mask, Mike positively beamed. “Wonderful! C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the others…” And he grabbed Orion’s hand and practically dragged him out of the library and to a large barracks at the end of the hall. Before the clerk could protest Mike had pulled him inside and practically pushed him to the center of a group of mechs who looked up from whatever they were doing to stare curiously at him.

“Guys, this is Orion Pax,” Mike introduced. “And Orion, these are… hang on, let me be sure I’ve got all these right… Kevin, Steve, Paul, Greg, Jose, Andrew, Elvis, Dmitri…”

“Don’t overwhelm him, Mike,” another Vehicon, the one Mike had introduced as Steve, advised. “Sorry about him, Orion. He tends to get overexcited.”

“Do not!” Mike whined.

“Do so,” Steve teased, bumping a fist against his shoulder good-naturedly. “But we like you anyhow.”

Orion laughed and pulled up a chair, sitting down so that he didn’t tower so much over the Vehicons. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“So you were in stasis for a bunch of years,” Mike went on – it was increasingly obvious that this particular Vehicon was a bit of a motor-vocalizer. “What was it like? Were you, like, offline the whole time, or do you remember it?”

Orion pondered that a moment. “To be honest... I don’t remember. I simply remember returning to my quarters one night after a hard day in the archives, and the next thing I know Megatron is saving me from a group of Autobots, telling me that there was a war while I was gone.” He sighed deeply. “It feels as if I’ve lost a great portion of my life… I only hope I can make up for it now.”

Steve and one of the others – Jose, Orion recalled – exchanged a look. He couldn’t read their facial expressions, but they seemed to know something he didn’t…

“What’s Lord Megatron like when he’s not around us?” asked Andrew softly. “He doesn’t… yell at you, like he does to us all the time, right?”

“He yells at you?” Orion frowned and shook his head. “No… that’s not right. I’ll talk to him about it.”

“Like that’ll do any good,” Paul muttered. “Megatron don’t listen to anyone except himself. And maybe Soundwave.”

“Perhaps I can make him see reason,” Orion surmised. “Perhaps he just doesn’t know any other way to be a leader. He spent most of his life as a gladiator, and there the top gladiators lead by force and anger more than anything else. I’m sure Megatron just doesn’t know any better, and would be open to some suggestions.”

Paul snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

“Hey, ol’ Megs isn’t THAT bad a leader,” Elvis defended. “Sure, he gets a little loud at times, but doesn’t everyone on this ship? And better him than Razorclaw or Overlord or one of the others…”

“Well, at least Razorclaw and Overlord never threw us off the top of the…” began Paul.

“Guys, change of subject,” hissed Jose, roughly elbowing Paul in the side.

“Oh… uh… right.” Paul shot Jose a glare but let the subject drop.

Orion wondered for a moment why Megatron was such a sore subject for them. The times he had been around the Decepticon leader, he had been a little brusque and distant but generally well-meaning. Perhaps around his troops, though, he felt he had to lead by brute force. He hadn’t been lying to cover for his friend when he’d told the Vehicons his past as a gladiator could have something to do with it – in the arena, only the most brutal mechanisms survived long enough to become leaders. Megatron had simply learned what it took to survive in his environment, and it carried over to the present. Still... Orion wanted to see the Vehicons treated well too. He’d have to talk to Megatron about this.

For now, though… “I was planning on spending some time reading on my own, but would any of you object if I read aloud? I’m not the best storyteller, but I do like to share what I learn.”

The reaction was immediate – the Vehicons’ optic bands lit up with delight, and they chattered excitedly as they gathered around him. Orion took that as assent, and he scrolled through the datapad to find an appropriate story. Perhaps a tale about Solus Prime, the weaponsmith and warrior, would suit.

***

Megatron supposed he shouldn’t have been too surprised to walk into the Vehicons’ barracks later that day to find all of them gathered around Orion, listening raptly as he read to them from a datapad. He did tell the clerk to find some means of entertaining himself, and seeing as he hadn’t been specific it was only natural that he’d turn to what he was most familiar with to occupy his time – some obscure text. The fact that he was using said text to play story time with his soldiers was somewhat strange, but in a way rather humorous as well.

Still, it was one thing for Orion to enjoy his leisure time, but quite another for him to use it to distract his troops from their duties. “Back to your posts, Vehicons,” he snapped.

A few of the mechs groaned in dismay, but they dispersed, filing out of the barracks to report to their various duties. Orion switched off the datapad and stowed it into subspace before turning to Megatron.

“You’re too hard on them,” he said immediately, optics glinting sternly.

“And good afternoon to you too,” Megatron noted, motioning for Orion to follow him out. “They are my troops. I have to maintain discipline among them. If I allow my army to fall into idleness and rebellion, we can never hope to stop the Autobots and bring order to Cybertron.”

“I understand,” Orion replied, his expression determined, “but they still deserve to be treated well, as individuals rather than objects. Your soldiers are the legs your army stands on, and that position demands respect.”

Megatron turned to regard the young clerk, frowning. “Such bold words,” he murmured, partly impressed but partly worried as well. Was the Optimus Prime within him finally starting to surface? Was he regaining his memory?

Orion hesitated, and his expression became bashful. “They aren’t my words… I read them in a datapad about some of the ancient Primes. I think it was Zeta who originally said it.”

Megatron allowed himself to relax slightly. So he was merely copying phrases from previous Primes, not slipping back into the Prime mold himself. Still, he was going to bear watching from here on out – he wanted Orion kept under control, not allowed to develop his own noble ideals and fill his soldiers’ heads with silly notions such as individuality.

“I will consider what you have said, Orion,” he said at last, patting his shoulder. “But for now, don’t worry about it. I promised you some time to catch up on the past, and I’m free for that now.”

Orion smiled at that, and followed Megatron to his office. The Decepticon commander rarely used this room anymore – he was a mech of action, spending the bulk of his time out on the field or on the bridge of the Nemesis. But Soundwave still kept the room ready in case it was needed, and had even left a few cubes of high grade on the desk for the times Megatron had had a hard day and really needed to unwind somehow. He took one and handed it to Orion, nodding to indicate he could sit down, before pulling the chair out from behind the desk so he could sit down beside him.

“You have questions, I’m sure,” Megatron noted. “About what has transpired since you went into stasis. Feel free to ask them, and I shall answer to the best of my ability.”

“How bad is the destruction of Cybertron?” Orion asked immediately. “I saw the satellite image you showed me that first day, and it looked bad enough… but what does it look like up close? Is it… is it so terrible that it can’t be repaired?”

“Cybertron has been reduced to a ghost planet in the wake of the war,” Megatron said, coloring his voice with just a hint of regret. “The damage is not irreparable, but it is terrible enough. It is my hope that at least one of the relics we uncover will be powerful enough to restore Cybertron to her former glory.” He sipped at his cube, relishing the fire of it in his fuel intake. 

Orion seemed to take that as a sign to drink his own fuel, and to Megatron’s amusement his optics flared brightly as it touched his lips. “Oh! That’s… that’s strong.”

Megatron suppressed the urge to snort in laughter. Was he really such a lightweight when it came to high grade? “Small sips, Orion. This stuff is too good to go to waste.” He patted his shoulder. “Anything else?”

The clerk hesitated. “It… seems silly to ask this… but what of the Hall of Records? Is it… gone?”

He let himself laugh at that, and did his best to make it sound like fond laughter instead of mocking laughter. “Of course you would be concerned about that, my friend. No, the damages to the archives were minimal.” He was only guessing at that – when he had led his forces into the Hall of Records to raid it the archivists had already transferred the bulk of the books, datapads, and artifacts within to another location, leaving only an empty shell of a building that he’d razed to the ground in frustrated rage. But the contents could still be intact somewhere, so technically that was the truth.

Orion relaxed, though out of relief that the archives were safe or the high grade finally hitting his systems, who could say? “Good… what of Alpha Trion?”

“Your mentor… is missing.” Also technically true. Megatron had not encountered him in the Hall of Records, and none of his troops had come across his body. He supposed the old mech was either in hiding, or had killed himself to ensure he couldn’t be captured and forced to give up valuable information.

Orion continued to ply him with questions, pausing only to sip at his fuel every so often. Megatron found the interview oddly amusing – it was interesting how little he really needed to twist the information he fed him in order to line it up with the ongoing deception. Substituting one word for another, altering the facts just a little… it was so simple and yet so devastatingly effective. And it would cut down on the amount of information he had to keep straight for later.

That and a good acting job seemed to be critical for this interview. He was careful to keep the mask of a noble leader on at all times, regretful at points when he wanted to be triumphant, soft-spoken when he wanted to bellow in pride at the outcome of some battle or other. In a way, it was oddly enjoyable… especially since Orion was buying the act hook, line, and sinker. 

Finally Orion seemed to run out of things to say, and he stared into his cube, seeming surprised to find it empty. “No more… no more for now. I have… a great deal to think about.”

“Of course.” Megatron finished off his own cube. “You may return to your quarters. Work starts again in the morning.”

Orion nodded and made to stand up, but wobbled and had to grab onto Megatron’s arm to stay upright. “Whoa… a little… tipsy…”

Megatron chuckled and wrapped an arm around Orion, highly amused to see the mech so affected by a single cube of high-grade. “Need me to walk you back to your quarters?”

“I can do it,” Orion insisted, trying to shrug off the arm. He made it two steps before stumbling again, and would have fallen flat on his faceplate had Megatron not caught him.

“Perhaps you should recover a little first,” he advised. “Let your systems burn off some of that extra energy.” He took Orion by the shoulders, ready to guide him back to the chair.

“’’M fine,” Orion muttered stubbornly, but he didn’t resist as Megatron nudged him to sit down. “Everything’s… tingly…”

Megatron couldn’t suppress an amused grin. Primus, he was utterly blasted by a single cube. The great Optimus Prime being such a lightweight when it came to his energy intake was just too hilarious… too bad he hadn’t known this earlier.

He took in the sight of Orion sprawled in the chair, legs apart, faceplates tinted blue with excess energon flowing beneath the thin metal, body warm and practically buzzing with excess energy. A positively wicked thought formed in his CPU, and he silently sent a command to lock his door securely from the inside. An overcharged mech was often aroused and sensitive in more ways than one… why not take advantage of this?

“Would you like me to help you burn off the extra energy?” he offered. 

It took a moment for Orion’s befuddled CPU to come up with an answer. “Yes… would help.”

That was all the invitation he needed. He reached up to stroke the side of his helm, kissing his lip plates. Orion’s optics flared in surprise, but he didn’t resist, lightly kissing back. Grinning eagerly, Megatron moved to kiss the cables over his throat, then down his chestplate, making his way down his body…

“What… what are you…” Orion tried to sit up, looking down to get a better look at what Megatron was doing.

“Just relax,” he urged. “You’ll enjoy this.” And he lightly kissed Orion’s panel.

The clerk shuddered, that simple touch of his lip plates eliciting a groan of pleasure. “This… is sudden…” he murmured, but he made no move to pull back or push Megatron’s head away.

“Relax,” Megatron encouraged. “Trust me.” He kissed his panel again, then gave it a slow, leisurely lick. Orion arched his back, gasping at the touch. Excellent… he was so sensitive, so ready for this…

Another lick, and he was rewarded with a soft click as Orion unlocked his panel. He nudged it aside, exposing his spike casing and valve. The latter was already slick with lubricant, and as Megatron’s venting brushed across the sensitive nodes Orion shivered with a needy whine. Was this a result of the high grade, or was he always this easily aroused? No matter… he intended to take full advantage of this.

He moved in quickly, before Orion could change his mind, pressing a kiss to his valve. The reaction was immediate and dramatic – Orion bucked, crying out, and grabbed onto Megatron’s helm with both hands. He made no move to push him away, however, only rubbed the helm beneath his fingers, venting hard, legs shaking. Encouraged, Megatron slid his glossa into the opening, tracing the edge, then exploring deeper.

Orion jerked, high whining moans coming from his vocalizer as Megatron tasted sensitive nodes, giving each one careful attention before delving deeper. The warlord reached up to grasp his legs and moved them over his shoulders, rubbing up and down his thighs as he continued to pleasure him. His own spike and valve began to warm up, prickling with desire, a thread of need beginning to course through his body. How tempting it would be to just throw him over the desk and have him here and now…

Orion’s valve clenched, and Megatron realized he was hovering on the edge of an overload. He drew back, pulling away from the young mech, and felt a mix of amusement and pleasure at hearing him groan in disappointment. 

“Megatron,” he panted, looking down at the mech crouched between his legs. “Please… I need… please…”

For a moment Megatron simply grinned up at him, relishing hearing Optimus Prime begging, pleading, even if it was for a release and not his life. “As you wish,” he murmured at last, and moved in to press his glossa against the very front node, sucking hard.

Orion bucked, hips thrusting involuntarily against Megatron’s mouth, giving a wail of pure ecstasy as his body convulsed with overload. Megatron shuddered himself, pressing his glossa deeper, feeling his valve clamp down and ripple around his glossa. How would that feel around his spike…

At last Orion collapsed back in the chair, shaking with the aftershocks of overload. Megatron pulled away, feeling the slickness of Orion’s lubricant on his lips, the tang of it on his glossa. Even as the young clerk was still shaking with pleasure as he came down from that glorious high he moved in, kissing him deeply, gripping his hips and pulling him close. Orion moaned beneath him, hitching closer, hands moving up to clutch at his shoulders.

Megatron lifted Orion in his arms, surprised at how light he was for his size. He wrapped the young mech’s legs around his hips and carried him to the desk, never breaking off the kiss. Orion had barely settled in on his new perch before Megatron began caressing him in earnest, fondling his headfins, rubbing at his back and aft, rocking his hips against his. Primus, it had been so long… his spike ached beneath its housing, fully pressurized and throbbing with need… and Orion was still so open to him, so wet and ready…

He groaned in relief as he released his spike, relieving that pressure for a moment. At the click of his panel, Orion seemed to come back to his senses, and he pulled away to look down at Megatron’s spike.

“What are you…” he began.

“You do know how to interface, don’t you?” Megatron asked, chuckling softly.

Orion looked back up at Megatron, optics bright with sudden fear. “I’ve never… never done this before… Megatron… you’re too big…”

“Easy,” Megatron murmured soothingly, cupping the side of his partner’s face in one hand. “Relax, Orion. Your body will fit mine.” He gently stroked up and down one headfin, focusing on that action to distract himself from the intense desire to just frag him then and there. “It will hurt for just a moment when I break your seal, but only a moment. The rest will be wonderful.”

Orion’s optics were still bright with fear, but he could feel the young mech relax just a little in his grasp. He tried to keep a mask of loving concern on his face, but it was taking all his strength to restrain himself now. The heat of Orion’s body against his, the hot smell of overload and desire… it was all too much…

“Trust me.” He breathed those words into Orion’s audial, low and husky with need. Orion shivered in response, and moved in to kiss him, hooking his legs around Megatron’s waist.

He took that as consent, and he eased the tip of his spike into the young mech’s valve. Orion shuddered at the invasion, a rough groan forcing its way out of his mouth, hands tightening on Megatron’s shoulders. Megatron, too, groaned low and deep, pushing in deeper until he could feel the resistance of the seal. Primus, he felt exquisite… smooth, tight, slick with arousal…

“Mega… Megatro-on…” Orion stuttered, burying his head against the warlord’s neck. A shudder ran the length of his body as Megatron reached down to lightly rub at his spike casing. Briefly Megatron wondered how it was that Orion had never found a bedmate, or at least a willing partner for a night – he was so responsive, with the most glorious reactions to pleasure…

He freed Orion’s spike, holding it gently in his claws. It was a nice size – big, but not too big for his chassis size. And it must have been incredibly sensitive – simply curling his fingers around it made Orion shudder hard enough for his armor to rattle, moaning between vents of his fans. Part of Megatron wanted to simply touch him, explore him, watch him react and tremble beneath his hands… but his own desire won out.

Keeping one hand on Orion’s spike, stroking it to distract him from what was to come, he slid the other hand beneath his aft to better position him. With one firm thrust, he pushed fully into Orion’s valve, grunting at the feel of the seal giving way to admit him. The young clerk’s body jerked once, a gasp of pain bursting from his vocalizer, and his valve instinctively clamped down on Megatron’s spike.

“Mega… Me…” He couldn’t finish, the rest of his sentence a loud groan as pleasure overtook pain.

“Orion,” Megatron breathed, rocking his hips gently against him just to watch him arch and cry out beneath him. “I’ve wanted this… for so long…”

Orion gazed up at him through bright, half-shuttered optics, mouth hanging open in a desperate attempt to cool his systems. “Megatron… I…”

He brushed his claws over Orion’s lips to silence him. “Talk later… for now…” He rocked his hips again, then began to steadily thrust. In response Orion clenched his valve tighter, wrapping his arms around Megatron and gripping him hard enough to nearly dent the armor on his back and shoulders. His body arched beneath Megatron’s, and he began to move in time with his thrusts, instinct taking over.

All coherent thought faded out of his CPU from that point forward – the only thing that mattered was the mech beneath him. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, metal scraping on metal, the slide of spike on valve sending pleasure streaking through both mechs’ chassis. Orion was gloriously noisy the whole time, moaning loudly with every rock of Megatron’s hips, crying out as Megatron moved in to nip at his headfins and neck cables… and every sound of pleasure he made thrilled Megatron all the more.

Far too soon, Orion hit overload, already close to the edge from his previous climax. He gave a shuddering cry and bucked against Megatron, digging his fingers into the armor plates on his back. Megatron gave a shudder of his own at the feeling of the young mech’s overload, of the valve clenching tightly around his spike like a fist, of the warmth of transfluid splashing against his abdomen from Orion’s spike. He groaned deeply and quickened his pace, rocking against him, prolonging the young clerk’s overload and straining to reach it himself… almost… there…

He flung his head back and roared as a powerful overload seized him, jolting through his entire body like a surge of Dark Energon but infinitely better. Every sensor in his body burned with it, his spark blazing hotly until he thought he would melt with the heat. For a glorious moment, nothing existed but the ecstasy of overload.

When he regained his senses he looked down at Orion… and couldn’t help but chuckle. He looked absolutely exhausted, lying limply back on the desk and panting softly. His optics were dim and nearly shuttered, and his legs and lower abdomen were spattered with lubricant and transfluid. Yet he seemed content, and he wore a rare smile on his faceplate. 

Megatron carefully pulled his spike free from his relaxed valve, patting his hip. “How do you feel?”

“S-so good,” Orion murmured. He raised his head slightly to look down at himself, and blushed slightly. “Heh… we were messy…”

Megatron laughed and moved to clean him up, gently wiping away the excess fluids before closing his panel. “No regrets?”

Orion shook his head. “Megatron… I…”

“Hmm?” Megatron looked up from his own cleanup and raised an optic ridge. “What is it?”

“I… I think I… love you.” And with that, he laid his head back and dropped offline, as if he had kept himself awake only long enough to say those words.

Megatron allowed himself a triumphant grin as he scooped the exhausted mech up in his arms and carried him out of the office and to his quarters. Success! He had won Orion’s spark… and with it, his loyalty. Let Soundwave worry all he wanted, but their deception had paid off, and they needn’t worry that the former Prime would end up betraying them.

Something in the back of his CPU nagged at him, convinced that he’d made a mistake… but he quashed it ruthlessly. The plan was working better than he had hoped. What could possibly make it go wrong?


	5. Chapter 5

_He just has to make this difficult, doesn’t he?_ thought Ratchet as he hauled himself up the cliff face. _Maybe this is his way of getting payback against us. Even though it’s not MY fault he’s stuck out here..._

His foot slipped, and he scrabbled desperately for a new foothold for a pump-stopping moment. Thankfully he managed to catch himself before he could fall, though it was a close thing. Gritting his dental plates, he kept climbing. Slaggit, he was getting too old for this sort of thing. If the new recruit was unhappy with the situation – and frankly, Ratchet couldn’t exactly blame him for that – couldn’t he at least pick a place closer to the ground to sulk?

Finally he reached the ledge where the new Autobot was sprawled out, gazing down at the road leading to the base, his gun within easy reach at his side. With a grunt, he pulled himself up onto the ledge and scooted closer to the new arrival.

“Oh good, I finally get some company,” the mech noted, grinning up at Ratchet.

“If you wanted to be social, you could actually stand up for yourself and come into the base, Smokescreen,” Ratchet pointed out. “Not hole yourself up on the mountain.”

The young carformer pushed himself upright, picking up his gun and stowing it. “Eh, got the impression from Arcee and the others that I wasn’t exactly welcome. Figured I shouldn’t push it too much.” He looked over at Ratchet, a slight gleam in his optic. “You wouldn’t have happened to remember to bring me a drink, would you?”

Ratchet sighed and removed an energon cube from subspace. “I’m not in the habit of letting my comrades starve, even if they aren’t fully trusted yet.”

“’Preciate it, Ratch,” Smokescreen replied, taking the cube. “And hey, so long as I’m stuck out here, the least I can do is be a lookout. Keep watch over the base. Maybe if I warn you guys that Decepticons or MECH are coming, you’ll warm up to me a tad.”

“Hopefully that won’t be necessary.” Ratchet settled in on the ledge. “I’d rather they accepted you on their own without us falling under attack.”

Smokescreen shrugged, as if it didn’t make a difference to him, and downed the cube. In a way, Ratchet almost admired that stubborn enthusiasm, that complete refusal to let anything dim his spirits. The young Autobot had faced distrust and resentment from the moment he’d arrived, emerging from a stolen Decepticon escape pod and facing down Arcee’s guns and Wheeljack’s swords with little more than a smile and a few wisecracks to defend himself. Well, that and a rather wild story about how he had served as a guard to Alpha Trion, gotten captured by the Decepticons, and commandeered an escape pod to make his getaway.

Ratchet had been somewhat cautious of the new arrival, but had finally decided that he had no reason to lie about his origins and must be telling the truth about the circumstances of his escape. The others had not been so accepting – Arcee and Bulkhead, in particular, had distrusted him almost immediately, and were still refusing to allow him to even spend the night in the base. Bumblebee seemed more neutral than anything on the subject but tended to go along with what the other two wanted, and Wheeljack… who knew what that mech wanted, seeing as he only stopped by the base when it suited his whimsy and had offered no input on the subject.

Ratchet moved to sit down next to the younger Autobot, only to frown as he sat on something that rustled and crinkled beneath him. He lifted himself off the ground and pulled a faded tarp out from under his aft.

“Oh, careful with that,” Smokescreen urged, reaching out to take it. “Don’t rip it.”

“What’s this for?” asked Ratchet.

“Eh, found it in an old abandoned garage up the road a ways,” he replied, smoothing the tarp out and shaking some of the dust off. “I keep it over me at night when I recharge. Helps keep some of the cold out.” He shivered a bit despite the desert sun pounding down on the ledge. “Nobody ever told me this place could get so hot and so cold all in the same day.”

“Deserts tend to be places of extremes,” Ratchet replied, though he couldn’t help but cringe just a little. He knew from experience how uncomfortably cold it could get outside the base, and while it wasn’t bad enough for a mech to risk shutting down if he stayed out overnight, it still couldn’t be the least bit pleasant. Again he wondered if he could appeal to the others to let Smokescreen inside the base, even if it was just for nights. Or just pull rank and tell them Smokescreen was coming in and if they didn’t like it, they were free to spend the night outside.

Somehow he doubted the latter option would go over well with the others. Had it been Optimus insisting Smokescreen be welcomed into the base, they would have obeyed without hesitation, albeit begrudgingly. But no one was used to Ratchet being in charge, least of all Ratchet himself, and the others still weren’t obeying his orders as well as they had obeyed Optimus’ commands. It shouldn’t be that way, but it was.

As if picking up on Ratchet’s thoughts, Smokescreen spoke up. “Was kind of disappointed to come all this way and not be able to meet Optimus. Where is the big guy anyhow?”

Ratchet sighed. “He’s with the Decepticons.”

Smokescreen’s jaw dropped. “He’s been captured? Then why are we sitting around here on our afts? We should be out trying to rescue him!”

“It’s not that simple.”

His optics blazed brightly. “You mean… he’s switched sides? I didn’t think it was possible for a Prime to do that!”

“It’s even more complicated than that.” Ratchet passed a hand over his face, feeling a CPU-ache coming on just from talking about it. “During our last major battle… Optimus Prime’s memory was erased. And Megatron took advantage of that to convince him he belonged with the Decepticons.”

Smokescreen’s optics rebooted in surprise. “Oh. Uh… we could still rescue him?”

“We’ve tried twice, and both attempts failed. Arcee came back empty-handed, and Wheeljack didn’t even make it aboard the ship before Dreadwing shot his ship down. Thankfully he survived the attempt.” He leaned back against the side of the mountain. “That… and we’re not even sure Optimus wants to be saved. Not now that he has his best friend back.”

“Um… I don’t follow,” Smokescreen confessed.

“Oh, right, you don’t know Optimus’ history. Before becoming the Prime, he was a data clerk named Orion Pax. He and Megatron – who was known as Megatronus back then – were close friends, though they had a falling out when it became clear Megatron was becoming a terrorist instead of the revolutionary freedom fighter Orion had idolized him as. Most people see them as nothing more than fearsome rivals, out for each other’s life oil… but few know that their rivalry is all the more heated for being born of lost friendship.”

“Wow… it would actually be kinda cool if it wasn’t a real thing. Like an action-drama holovid or something.”

“Well, it IS a real thing. And I fear that Megatron’s convinced Orion that they’re still friends, and that he’s still a noble freedom fighter seeking to restore order to Cybertron, rather than a tyrant. And I shudder to think what other propaganda he’s feeding him. If we don’t get him back soon, he could be too far gone to save, too entrenched in their ways. And worse, he could be perfectly happy with their ways, and not want to come back to the Autobots.”

Smokescreen shuddered. “How can anybody like being an oilthirsty backstabbing warmonger? Especially Optimus. I always got the impression he would have been a pacifist had there not been a war going on.”

Ratchet didn’t reply to that. Smokescreen was young and a little naïve – he either didn’t know exactly what the medic was referring to, or was embarrassed by it and choosing to ignore it in favor of something else. 

Not that he could blame him – most Autobots were somewhat prudish, and saw the Decepticons’ relaxed attitude toward interfacing as disgusting or animalistic. While most Autobots stuck with one partner throughout their lives and didn’t dare discuss the matter outside their private quarters, most Decepticons saw nothing wrong with talking about their berth antics in public, sharing their partners with someone else, or even engaging in interface practices that were seen as deviant or downright taboo by the Autobots. Ratchet rather suspected that more than one Autobot who decried such openness on the subject actually envied the Decepticons for their freedom, and had to admit that he wasn’t sure whether to be repulsed or attracted to such customs.

He had no idea what Optimus’ attitude toward the subject was – interfacing was never something that had come up between the two of them, and though they had been fond of each other they had never shared a berth. But he wouldn’t put it past Megatron to try to seduce Orion, and use that as a tool to corrupt him further. 

Something poked his shoulder, and he looked over to see Smokescreen elbowing him.

“You okay?” he asked. “You’re spacin’ out there.”

“I’m fine,” Ratchet lied. “I have to get back to the base. Comm me if you need anything.”

“Will do. Don’t work too hard.”

“Har har.” Ratchet moved to climb down the cliff face, chancing one last glance up at Smokescreen. The young carformer was pulling the tarp over himself, settling in for another chilly night. Poor kid. It wasn’t his fault he’d shown up so soon after Optimus’ disappearance, when tensions and suspicions were running so high. He hoped the others would see reason soon. If not… well, a medic had their ways to get people to cooperate.

Smokescreen was in recharge when Ratchet returned later that night, shivering beneath his tarp. He didn’t awaken as the medic pulled the tarp away and replaced it with a heavier covering, but his shaking soon ceased and his venting evened out, letting him relax into a deeper recharge. Ratchet allowed himself a bit of a smile before leaving him to his rest.

***

Dreadwing found Megatron in the base’s shooting range, firing at a holographic image of a former Prime in an effort to take him down. The Decepticon leader noted the Seeker’s entrance from the corner of his optic but elected to ignore him until he actually tried to get his attention. Instead he focused on the target, pumping several rounds into the hologram’s chest. It collapsed, smoking, then faded from view.

“Lord Megatron.” Dreadwing saluted. “There is a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

Megatron turned to regard the Seeker, keeping his expression neutral. Privately, however, he had to admit he was impressed with Dreadwing’s conduct so far. In the brief time he had been here he had single-handedly repelled an Autobot attack on the Nemesis, and had already commanded respect from most of his fellow soldiers – except Knockout, but then, Knockout reserved his respect for his bondmate and offered mostly sarcasm and sassy remarks to everyone else. And he was nothing but professional and obedient with Megatron, avoiding flattery and bootlicking. 

So unlike Starscream… though Starscream had been entertaining and amusing in his own right. And in some ways Megatron missed their interactions. Though he had to admit things went so much more smoothly aboard this ship without the treacherous Air Commander aboard…

“What is it, Dreadwing?” he asked, cutting off that train of thought before it could go any further.

Dreadwing wasted no time in getting to the point. “What is being done with Optimus Prime?”

Megatron narrowed his optics slightly. “Orion Pax, Dreadwing. You will refer to him as Orion Pax from now on. Calling him by Optimus Prime will carry an extremely heavy penalty.”

“My apologies, Lord Megatron,” the Seeker replied, bowing slightly. “But I am unclear as to why we harbor one of the enemy aboard this ship, and allow him unrestricted access rather than locking him in the brig.”

“I thought I explained this to you when you first came aboard,” Megatron replied. “Orion Pax is one of us now. He believes himself to be loyal to the Decepticon cause, a simple data clerk doing his part for our glorious Empire.”

Dreadwing frowned. “Would it not be simpler to eliminate him? We have our worst enemy in our grasp, and we do not destroy him while we have the chance?”

“You question my decisions, Dreadwing?” Megatron demanded. “Orion Pax is proving to be a valuable resource to our cause. Should he become useless to us, or show signs of regaining his memory, then we terminate him. For now, though, let him decrypt the archives for us, and free up our resources for missions elsewhere.”

Dreadwing scowled, but in the end he simply nodded. “As you wish, my Lord.”

“Remember, Dreadwing – a word to Orion Pax about Optimus Prime, and there will be consequences. Return to your post.”

The Seeker nodded and turned to go. Megatron watched him leave, frowning deeply. Dreadwing had a strong sense of honor, and even though his desire to avenge his brother currently drove him, he still made it clear when he found a course of action distasteful. Knowing that he found Megatron’s current course of action regarding Orion dishonorable was merely annoying, seeing as the Decepticon leader’s word overrode anyone else’s preferences. Still… Dreadwing would bear watching from here on out.

With a growl he turned back to the shooting range, firing at another hologram that had materialized. Dreadwing’s disapproval wasn’t the only annoyance he faced currently. Over the past few days a somewhat embarrassing side effect of his plan was cropping up, and he knew he had to deal with it quickly before his troops took to laughing at him behind his back. If they weren’t already doing just that.

The morning after their ‘facing session in his office, Orion had emerged from his quarters wearing the sort of starry-opticked expression that practically broadcast to the entire Nemesis that he had gotten laid the night before. And he made it no secret as to who his partner had been – several times throughout the course of the day Megatron had caught the data clerk staring at him adoringly. At the time he had simply ignored it, figuring that Orion would come to his senses and knock it off eventually.

No such luck – every time he saw Orion the clerk would either give him that same loving, adoring expression, or he would blush and turn away, pretty much confirming to everyone in view that the two of them were sleeping together. And he couldn’t just clock the mech over the head and tell him to knock it off either, not if he wanted to keep his plan going. It was taking all his willpower to ignore the fawning young mech’s attentions and not react in a way he’d end up regretting later.

He didn’t dare bring this up to Soundwave. The communications officer wasn’t given to gloating or taunting, but he would still find some way to remind Megatron that he had been warned about this plan backfiring in some way. That was perhaps the most frustrating part – that he couldn’t discuss this with the one mech he considered a loyal confidant. Frag, Soundwave probably knew all about this repercussion already and was just waiting for Megatron to bring it up with him.

Well, he wouldn’t play that game. He’d find a way to deal with this himself.

Finally the computer readout in the shooting range announced that he had hit his quota for the day, and he shut the hologram projector down before heading out. While he had Orion on the CPU, he might as well check on him. Make sure he wasn’t wasting time fraternizing with the Vehicons again or something…

Whatever Orion was working on, it was commanding his entire attention. He was working the keys as fast as his fingers would go, optics fixed on the screen, biting his lip in concentration. He didn’t even seem to notice Megatron entering the room.

A wild impulse seized Megatron at that moment, and with a grin he strode toward the young mech, keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible. Orion wanted to give him attention, did he? Well, turnabout was fair play…

Orion yelped loud enough to alert the entire ship, nearly jumping out of his plating, as Megatron groped his aft. 

“Spooked you, did I?” he chuckled, pulling his hand away.

“You… you did,” Orion stammered, hand on his chest. “I thought my spark was going to leap out of my chest.”

Megatron laughed. “Your aft is just too gorgeous not to touch.” He regarded the screen, but the jumble of encrypted symbols made no sense to him. “Have you made progress?”

“Actually… there was something I wanted to talk to you about, Megatron. About something I found.”

That sounded ominous. “What precisely did you find?”

Orion turned back to the keyboard and called up an image. “This… what is this? And why was it locked in a secure folder?”

His fuel pump nearly stopped cold in his chest. An image of Optimus Prime glowered down from the monitor, accompanied by a short bio and set of statistics. Orion had found himself… and he wanted answers. Already they faced the worst-case scenario.

The most logical thing to do would be to plant his cannon against Orion’s chest and pump a plasma bolt through his vitals. He knew that. But even as his gaze moved from the monitor to Orion’s face he knew that wasn’t an option. To his surprise… he didn’t want to offline the mech. Not even when he had his worst enemy practically helpless and trusting before him, ready for the slaughter.

_Not a case of wanting,_ he told himself. _He’s still too valuable. You need him for the cause. Nothing more._ Yes, that was it. He didn’t want to kill Orion because he still needed his decryption expert. 

“Sir?” Orion asked, still looking at him expectantly.

“The resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?” Megatron noted thoughtfully, looking back at the image. “Amazing, really, that two mechs with identical chassis makes can go on to become two such different individuals – one a fearsome Autobot tyrant, the other a peaceful clerk in the service of the Decepticons.”

Orion blinked once, surprised. “Then that’s not me?”

“Of course it isn’t,” Megatron replied reassuringly. “That’s why Soundwave kept it locked away, at my orders. I knew finding you looked so similar to one of our most feared opponents would disturb you. I had hoped to spare you this, but… it seems I wasn’t careful enough.” He shook his head regretfully. “You are not, and will never be, Optimus Prime. And for that I am very glad, for I like you as my friend, not as a tyrant.”

The clerk relaxed, relief suffusing his features. “Thank you, Megatron. I was so worried there.”

“You’re welcome, Orion. And if you have any other questions regarding what you find in the archives, come to me with them. I can clear them up for you.”

“I would appreciate that.” He smiled bashfully. “I’m sorry for wasting your time with this.”

“Not a waste to clear up a little misunderstanding.” He reached out to stroke his claws along his cheek. “We’ll talk more later. For now, we both have duties that need our attention.”

“Yes sir.” Orion turned back to the console, humming thoughtfully as he returned to his work.

Megatron, for his part, strode back toward the bridge, feeling the knot of tension in his spark relax. That had been far too close. Thankfully quick thinking had prevented disaster from happening… though perhaps Orion’s affections for Megatron had played a part, and his crush on his leader kept him from questioning his intentions.

He laughed softly, making a passing Eradicon pause and stare after him in confusion. Perhaps there were advantages to having a young admirer after all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly a porn-without-plot chapter... well, maybe a snippet of plot at the end...

Had Orion not been quite so absorbed in his work, he might have noticed that he was being spied on… and not by Megatron.

“Hmmmm, nice… very nice…”

“You keep making comments and you’re going to blow our cover.”

“He can’t even hear us, don’t worry. I may not be a spy, but I’m still stealthy when I want to be.”

“Like when you blew our cover back in Helex because you wouldn’t stop screeching over getting your paint job messed up by a frag grenade?”

“Oh, hush, that was only the one time.”

Breakdown snorted in amusement but said nothing further. It had been Knockout’s idea to slip down to the control room and watch Orion work – something about it being his responsibility to make sure new arrivals were fitting in well. They both were fully aware that it was just an excuse to let Knockout ogle him, though truth be told Breakdown didn’t mind that. The medic’s optics and hands might wander, but his spark still firmly belonged to the blue warrior.

Orion Pax had been part of the Decepticon forces for roughly a month now, and he’d become something of a fixture around the Nemesis – mechs no longer did a double-take when they spotted him in the corridors, and by now most mechs felt comfortable referring to him as Orion instead of his former title. The Vehicons seemed to have accepted him as one of their own, inviting him to sit with them on breaks and sharing stories and gossip with him. Orion, for his own part, seemed perfectly content, and while he had yet to see anything in the way of combat, most mechs assumed that when the time came, he would fight willingly alongside them against the Autobots. 

Knockout, for his part, had only interacted with Orion a few times so far – the initial checkup all new recruits underwent, attaching his Decepticon brand, and a few flirtatious encounters in the break room. But he made it no secret – to Breakdown, at least – that he would be perfectly happy with a little more than those few encounters. Okay, a lot more... Knockout was the first to admit that his tastes were fairly hedonistic even for a Decepticon, and he felt absolutely no shame about it either.

“That aft is just asking to be groped,” the medic noted, a delighted grin on his face. “Think he’d notice if I slipped in there and…”

“Frag yeah,” Breakdown replied. “Afts are sensitive on most mechs. Besides, isn’t he taken?”

Knockout snorted. “You don’t honestly believe he and Megatron are ‘facing, do you?”

“You even looked at Orion lately? He stares at Megs like a lovesick newbuilt, and blushes like a femme when he’s around. And Megs hasn’t done anything to deny it either.”

“So he has a crush on our beloved leader,” Knockout said dismissively. “That doesn’t exactly prove that Megatron’s fragging him. Or that they’re an exclusive couple. Plenty of mechs have one-night stands.”

“Seriously, Knockout, don’t push it,” Breakdown advised. “Horning in on Megatorn’s berth partner’s gonna get you fragged.”

“Oh come now, if Orion were off-limits, Megatron would have said something by now,” Knockout said dismissively. “What’s the harm in… shall we say… getting to know our newest recruit?”

“What harm indeed.”

Both mechs whirled to find Megatron standing behind them, a slight smirk on his faceplate. Breakdown’s optic flared in sudden fear, and he took a wary step back. Knockout’s visual receptors constricted slightly in fear, but he put on a game smile and simply offered the warlord a bow.

“My lord, we were simply… admiring the view,” he said with a grin.

“Now’s not the time to get cheeky,” Breakdown muttered.

Megatron glowered down at the medic, as if expecting him to cower at his feet. Knockout only smiled back with a confidence that bordered on defiance. Doubtless he was banking on the fact that he was the sole medic aboard the Nemesis, and Megatron wouldn’t destroy him or mistreat him enough to defect for that very reason. Breakdown just hoped that Knockout didn’t push their commander too far – Megatron had made it abundantly clear in the past that no mech aboard this ship was irreplaceable, and he had a nasty habit of abusing those who crossed him.

But to Breakdown’s surprise and relief, a grin split Megatron’s faceplate, and his glare softened to an oddly thoughtful gaze. “So our data clerk has caught your attention, Knockout. I’m surprised at you – usually you’ve seduced and bedded the new arrival by this point.”

If Knockout took that as an insult, he didn’t show it. If anything, his grin only widened. “Please, Lord Megatron, I have more control over my libido than that. It’s a far more pleasant experience for both parties involved if the new recruit has time to get settled beforehand.”

Megatron chuckled. “Ah, but he’s been settled in for some time… what’s kept you?”

Breakdown honestly couldn’t tell if their leader was joking or not, but decided to answer seriously anyhow. “We thought there were restrictions against it, sir.”

“Restrictions… ah, I see.” His grin widened. “You think he’s taken.”

Breakdown nodded.

“How considerate of you,” Megatron noted with a trace of sarcasm. “Though that hasn’t stopped Knockout before.” He peered into the control room, where Orion kept working, totally oblivious to their conversation. “How about a deal, Knockout?”

“Hmm?” The medic cocked his head, curious. “What sort of deal?”

“I grant you permission to have a night with Orion Pax,” he replied. “One night to do whatever you wish to do with him, provided it’s consensual. You may even allow Breakdown to join in if you so desire. One night… from the time his shift ends to the next morning. Use it wisely.”

Knockout’s optics glowed brightly in anticipation, and he grinned like a sparkling who had just been given full access to the goodie jar. Breakdown just gave a puzzled frown. That was giving Knockout a LOT of free reign – he had a knack for being able to convince and seduce another mech into doing pretty much anything he wanted, even if it wasn’t the other mech’s thing. There had to be a catch to this…

“And in return?” asked Knockout. “You and I both know you don’t make one-sided deals, Lord Megatron.”

Megatron’s smirk took on a decidedly wicked tilt now. “Your end of the bargain… is that I watch.”

***

Orion was just shutting down the console for the night and preparing to head back to his quarters when a familiar voice came from behind him.

“Nice rims.”

He turned to find Knockout leaning against the doorframe, arms folded in front of his chest, an approving smile on his face. Despite himself, he felt his faceplates heating up at the sight of the medic. He still hadn’t forgotten that moment when he’d caught his and Breakdown’s tryst in the med center, and it seemed as if Knockout wasn’t about to let him forget it either. And as uncomfortable as it was to admit it… Knockout was gorgeous, sleek and exotic and possessed with a grace that few mechs could duplicate. And his armor was so smoothly polished that it was tempting to reach out and touch it as the medic walked by.

But Knockout was taken, happily bonded to Breakdown by all outward appearances. And Orion… well, he wasn’t bonded to Megatron, but he felt close to their leader in a way he’d never felt toward another mech. And somehow imagining himself with Knockout felt traitorous and wrong.

“You’re a real heavy-duty sort, aren’t you?” Knockout went on, his gaze moving up and down the clerk’s body.

“My alt mode is a truck, if that’s what you mean,” he said at last, scooping up his datapads and making for the door.

Knockout chuckled, a low liquid sound that sent shivers down Orion’s spinal array. “You really are an innocent, aren’t you?”

Orion paused, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I’m flirting with you, silly.” He reached out and traced a claw along the truckformer’s arm, his touch light and gentle. “Some mechs prefer the slender, sleek type, but I like my partners with some power to their chassis. It makes things so much better.”

Partners… was Knockout referring to what he thought he was? “I… ah… thought you already had a partner.”

Knockout laughed again, and he reached up to run the tip of his claw down Orion’s chest. “Breakdown and I are partners in more ways than one. But he has no problem sharing me for a night or two. And I like to be sure my patients are performing optimally in ALL ways.”

Orion stammered, promptly dropping the datapads in his hands. “You want to…” He couldn’t force the rest of the sentence out.

“Hmmm, yes, I want to interface with you,” Knockout replied, looking highly amused at Orion’s discomfiture. “I want to see what you look like writhing in pleasure. But I don’t like a reluctant partner, and I’m not about to force it on you.” His claw continued to trace the seams of his armor, his touch feather-light, making Orion shiver. “I promise you, though, that if you say yes, I’ll make it worth your while.”

Orion knew he should say no, that he should leave the control room and go straight for his quarters. But to his profound embarrassment he found he didn’t really want to. Knockout’s invitation was tempting, and there was something about his voice… a seductive quality that reassured as well as excited. And the medic’s touch kept distracting him, the slim hand wandering and tracing sensitive seams and wires.

“If it’s any consolation, Megatron’s fine with this,” Knockout assured him. “I did check with him beforehand.”

That eased some of Orion’s worry. “What… what about Breakdown?”

“Hmmm… I invited him to join in, but he thought two of us might be a little too much for you at once. He’s off keeping a handful of Vehicons company for the night.” He slid a hand down Orion’s arm and took his hand, squeezing it. “Well?”

Orion hesitated, then nodded. “I… I want to. I just wanted to know that it was okay.”

“Oh, it’s more than okay,” Knockout assured him, looking up at him with an expression that could only be called “bedroom optics.” “I promise you won’t regret this.”

Orion just nodded, suppressing a nervous shiver… or was it really nervousness? “Who… who’s quarters? Yours or mine?”

Knockout chuckled and placed his hands on Orion’s torso, lightly pushing. He wasn’t nearly strong enough to push a mech as big as the clerk over, but Orion stepped back anyhow, startled at the move, and ended up hitting a chair and falling straight into it.

“Who said anything about quarters?” Knockout laughed, and he climbed up in Orion’s lap. Before he could protest, the medic’s hands were everywhere, exploring him intently, mapping out every sensitive point on his chassis.

“Knockout!” Orion gasped as claws found a gap in the armor on his back, sliding in to fondle the circuitry there. “W-wait… stop…”

“Hmmm?” Knockout paused, hand still nestled in his wiring, and cocked his head to one side. “Did I hurt you?”

“N-no…” It felt exquisite, actually. “But… this is… this is a public room… someone could walk in…”

Knockout waited until his face was nuzzling against his neck cables before indulging in a low laugh, sending pleasant vibrations through Orion’s body. “That just makes it all the more exciting, doesn’t it?”

Orion blushed hotly. A rush of mixed feeling swept through him at the thought of someone seeing them – embarrassment mingled with a thrill he’d never felt before. Doing this where anyone could see… it should have been shameful, but somehow the danger of being caught only added to the excitement. 

Then Knockout resumed teasing and caressing his circuitry, and coherent thought fled at the touch. Orion arched, groaning loudly, gasping as Knockout nipped and kissed at his neck cables. Megatron had been adept at finding just the right spots to touch… but Knockout was a master, knowing not only every “hot spot” on his body but how to touch it just so, where to squeeze and kiss and caress, how much pressure to use to get the right response. And he didn’t seem to mind that the mech beneath him couldn’t hold still – indeed, the look on his face made it seem as if he took it as a compliment.

Orion reached up to rest his hands on Knockout’s hips, feeling he should be reciprocating somehow. Knockout smirked a bit, and left off his own touching to take Orion’s hands in his and guide them lower, until they were resting on his aft. “Go ahead and explore,” he urged. “It’s open territory tonight.”

Emboldened by that statement, Orion began to rub. Knockout’s engine purred at the touch, and his hips hitched forward to grind against the clerk’s panel. Fascinated, he continued to explore, massaging up Knockout’s back, reaching up with one hand to stroke and fondle the crests and fins of his helm. The medic gave a whimpering moan and nudged against his hand, almost like a turbo-hound leaning into its owner’s caress. There was something strangely empowering about seeing another mech respond like this, about knowing he was making Knockout feel pleasure.

Knockout lowered his head abruptly, locking his mouth onto Orion’s and kissing him deeply. He kissed back as best he could, though he couldn’t help but feel awkward at this. Knockout was so much more experienced at passion than him… But the medic wasn’t complaining. He simply drew the kiss out, leisurely exploring his mouth with his own glossa, his hand drifting down to work at his panel all the while.

Orion gasped as Knockout freed his spike, closing slender fingers around it. The medic broke off the kiss and drew away, a wickedly delighted grin on his face.

“Oh my… heavy-duty in more ways than one.” He caressed it lightly, gently, that simple touch enough to make Orion shudder and jerk in pleasure. “I’d like to… attend to your equipment… before we begin, if you don’t mind.”

Even as admittedly naïve as he was regarding interfacing, Orion caught the innuendo in that statement, and he blushed furiously. But he nodded all the same, not sure he trusted himself to speak.

Knockout smiled eagerly, and he curled his claws around the base of Orion’s spike as he leaned down, the warmth of his venting feeling exquisite against the sensitive alloy down there. He gave it a long, slow lick, as if it were an energon treat. The warm, slick feel of his glossa made Orion writhe at the wonderful sensations coursing through him, hips twitching, valve heating up and leaking lubricant in anticipation.

“Kn-knockout…”

“Hmm?” He arched an optic ridge. “You were saying something?”

“M-more… please… more…”

“As you command, Orion.” He extended his glossa, giving the spike another leisurely lick. Then, without warning, he placed his mouth over the tip and began to take it in. 

Orion barely had time to wonder how he could even fit so much of it in his mouth before a shock of ecstasy flooded him, making him arch and cry out. Oh Primus… this was indescribable… the heat and slickness of Knockout’s mouth around him, his glossa rubbing against him… Was this what it felt like to take a valve, to be the ‘facer and not the one being ‘faced?

He reached up to take Knockout’s helm in his hands, rubbing the crests, trying to encourage some movement. Knockout squeezed Orion’s thighs in his hands, showing he understood, and began to bob his head, letting his mouth slide up and down his spike. The combination of heat and tightness and friction sent shivers of pleasure through Orion, making him groan and tremble at the medic’s attentions.

Something caught his optic, and he froze, a jolt of apprehension lancing through his chassis and briefly snapping him out of his rapture. A security camera was set into the wall in a corner of the control room… and it was aimed directly at them. Was someone spying on them? Or worse, was their tryst being broadcast to the entire Nemesis? It was one thing to risk getting caught, but quite another to practically do the equivalent of interfacing in front of every mech on this ship…

Then Knockout slipped his fingers inside Orion’s valve, caressing the edges before delving deeper, and rapture overtook any worry he might have had. Camera forgotten, he rolled his hips in response, valve tightening instinctively around the medic’s exploring digits. Knockout hummed softly in approval, the vibrations of that sound driving him closer to the edge…

“Knock… Knockout… I’m going to…” 

Knockout pulled away from his spike and grinned up at him. “Oh? What? You’re going to what? Tell me.” He winked teasingly, then gave his spike a last firm lick, thrusting his fingers deeply into him.

Orion bucked, crying out as a wave of tingling heat flooded him, his entire body rocking with release. He grabbed at the arms of his chair, gripping them tightly, as if the rush of ecstasy would drag him away if he didn’t hold on. Knockout encouraged his response, continuing to work his valve, wringing every last ounce of pleasure out of him. 

When he finally regained his senses he glanced down at the smaller mech… and blushed hotly. Knockout’s helm, shoulders, and chest were spattered with transfluid from Orion’s overload, the liquid dripping from his armor. The medic looked down at himself, as if trying to decide whether to be annoyed or not, then simply shrugged and looked up at the data clerk.

“I take it that you enjoyed that,” he noted, smiling. “I have to commend you, Orion. You have great responses.” He drew his hand away from Orion’s valve and rubbed gently at his thigh. “And you’re gorgeous when you overload.”

“Th-thank you,” Orion replied, leaning back and venting steadily to try to cool down. “What… what about you?”

“Oh, we’ll take care of me in a minute,” Knockout replied with a sneaky smile. “You just relax and recover.”

Orion was all too happy to oblige. He lay back, panting, his systems humming as they wound down from his climax. The room was thick with the smell of ozone and lubricant, and dimly he thought that he was going to have to scrub the control room to remove the obvious scent of overload. But that was for later… for now he just wanted to rest, to enjoy this moment as long as he could.

Knockout slid back up onto his lap and reached up to rub soothingly at the side of his helm, a gentle, almost loving smile on his faceplate, and Orion couldn’t help but lean into his touch. Small wonder Breakdown stayed with the medic – he was not only beautiful, but skilled in the berth and attentive to his partner. He almost imagined he could harbor a crush on the red mech… almost…

“Your temperatures are close to normal,” Knockout noted, pressing his forehead against Orion’s. “Your systems seem to have recovered. Ready for round two?”

“Round two?” Orion repeated, blinking in surprise.

“Mmmm, you think I’m going to let you go without getting something for myself?” Knockout replied, grinning mischievously. “Besides, even if your spark is reluctant, your spike seems up to the task.” He reached down to run his claws along the length of Orion’s spike, eliciting a shiver from the larger mech. “Ever fragged a mech before?”

Orion found himself blushing all over again. “N-no… not a femme either, for that matter…”

“Aah… not to worry, Orion. I’ll take the lead this time.” He reached down, took Orion’s hand, and rested it on his still-open panel. “Go on. Don’t be shy.”

Orion’s faceplates were warm enough to sting now. He’d never even touched his own interface equipment before, let alone another mech’s. He felt so new and clumsy at this, not like Knockout, who seemed to be a master at everything dealing with interfacing. Drawing a deep intake of air, he touched the entrance to the medic’s valve, tracing the edges with a fingertip.

“Aaahhmmmm…” Knockout arched his back, like an electro-cat in heat, and a tremor ran the length of his body in response. “M-more…”

Emboldened, Orion rubbed again, lubricant seeping from the valve and slicking his fingers. He rested his free hand on the medic’s back, massaging the paneling there, and carefully slipped a finger inside the valve, watching Knockout’s reaction. It was immediate and dramatic – he flung his head back, crying out sharply, and the smooth walls of his valve tightened around the invading digit.

“Don’t… stop…” Knockout placed his hands on Orion’s shoulders to brace himself. “Please…”

Orion nodded, and he slid another finger inside, stroking deeply. With a little exploration he was able to find nodes and wires that must have been incredibly sensitive, judging by how Knockout bucked and moaned as each one was touched and caressed. Remembering how Megatron had pleasured him that first night, he found a rhythm as he stroked, Knockout responding by rocking his hips in time with each thrust of his fingers. 

He was wondering if he could make Knockout overload by touch when the red mech grasped his wrist, pulling his hand away. Before Orion could ask why, Knockout moved to straddle him, lowering himself onto his spike. He bit his lip and clamped his optics shut as he slowly settled in, valve sliding over the rigid spike, body shivering at the invasion. Orion groaned and leaned back, panting harder. This was even better than a mouth on his spike… this was exquisite…

“M-magnificent,” Knockout murmured, grinding his hips against Orion’s. “Simply magnificent…” He lifted himself up, letting the spike slide out of him, then thrust back down, groaning from the motion. 

Orion gave a sharp cry of his own and grabbed his hips, helping him move, thrusting him up and down onto his spike. Pleasure rocketed through him with every thrust, building inside his chassis and spreading through his limbs like a tingling warmth. He wanted to urge Knockout to go faster, to drive the both of them to overload, and yet at the same time he wanted this to go on, to draw out the pleasure as long as he could…

Knockout yowled and ground against Orion, digging his claws into his shoulders and arching his head back. His valve clenched HARD as he hit overload, and that sudden pressure seemed to hit a release in Orion, triggering his own overload. A cry of ecstasy ripped from his vocalizer as he bucked beneath the medic. Primus, everything felt indescribably good… the rippling of Knockout’s valve around his spike, the sudden warmth of his mouth pressed to his neck cables… even the pain of claws in his shoulders wasn’t quite pain, only adding to the pleasure…

Finally, finally, the last waves of overload passed through him, leaving him shaking and panting in their wake. He felt utterly drained, so exhausted he could barely raise his head to look down at Knockout. The medic didn’t look much better – he lay draped over Orion like a blanket, too tired to even pull away from his spike. Yet there was a look of utter content on his faceplate, as if he would rather be here than anywhere else.

Orion reached up to rest a hand on the side of Knockout’s face. “Th-thank… thank you…”

“Mmm…” Knockout nuzzled into his touch. “No, thank YOU. That was far more than I could have hoped for.” He kissed the palm of Orion’s hand, then shifted his hips, easing himself off his partner’s spike before settling back in. “As good as Megatron?”

Orion stammered, not knowing how to answer that. “I… I don’t know…”

“You can say no, you know,” Knockout replied with a chuckle. “It won’t offend me. Well, maybe a little.” He reached up to rub Orion’s helm. “You called out his name when you hit your peak, you know.”

He blushed. “Is… is it that obvious? That I love him?”

“You’re not very good at hiding it,” Knockout admitted. He moved to rub at his headfins, making him shiver just a little. “I know how it is, though… you can ‘face with anyone else, even the most attractive and skilled mech on the Nemesis, and it’s not the same as having an intimate moment with the one you love. I’ve had many lovers, but none of them compare to Breakdown. He and I share something… special.”

“If that’s so… then why do you take other lovers?”

“Sharing the love,” he replied, grinning a bit. “There’s plenty of Knockout to go around, and sometimes people want to satisfy their curiosity, or simply need a night to relax and have some pleasure.” He moved his hand down to idly trace a pattern on Orion’s chest. “It helps me appreciate Breakdown more as well. I’m quite fortunate to have him.”

That made sense to Orion. “Does Breakdown approve of this?”

“Approve?” He laughed. “He does the same thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s taken two or three Vehicons off to an empty room for a tryst.”

Orion blushed yet again. That sounded… rather naughty. And yet kind of exciting as well.

“Why don’t we go get ourselves cleaned up?” Knockout suggested, reaching up to wipe a bit of transfluid off his crest. “I have a private washrack. I can help get you cleaned up thoroughly. Then we can always see what else we can get up to tonight…” He smiled, his optics full of promise. “After you’ve rested up, of course.”

Orion couldn’t help it – he laughed. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Then come.” Knockout wriggled down out of his lap, reaching down to close both their panels. Then he nudged Orion out of the chair and led him out of the control room.

***

In his own quarters, Megatron touched a control on his personal computer console, and the view on the screen switched from the control room to Knockout’s quarters. Curse the designers of this craft – they had security cameras placed everywhere except for in the wash racks. That was an oversight he would have to correct shortly… for security reasons, of course. Though knowing Knockout he was bound to engage Orion in some sort of sensual act during their shower, and he’d end up missing out on it.

He leaned back in his chair, waiting for Knockout and Orion to enter the medic’s room. Once those two had finally dropped offline for the night, he was going to need to hit the washrack himself. Fluids covered his thighs and pelvic armor from where he’d induced his own overload, and his claws were sticky as well. Why did pleasure have to be so messy, he wondered.

The ‘facing session in the control room had been even hotter than Megatron had imagined – Knockout’s experience and Orion’s responsiveness had made a perfect, erotic combination. And yet it had sparked a completely unexpected feeling in Megatron… jealousy. Seeing Knockout’s hands and mouth on the clerk, hearing Orion’s cries… it had stirred something deeper in him than mere arousal. Some part of him had wanted to storm into the control center and pull Knockout off of him, replacing the medic’s touch with his own. Some part of him had been watching the entire thing and quietly growling _Mine… mine… get your paws off of him, he’s mine…_

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. Just because he’d had the pleasure of breaking Orion’s seal didn’t mean Orion was exclusively his. Orion was a tool, nothing more… right?

Movement on the screen distracted him from that line of thought, and Knockout ushered Orion into his quarters, herding him in the direction of the wash rack. Megatron shifted in his seat, anticipation prickling through his chassis. If Knockout was even half as randy as he usually was, it meant the three of them would be getting no recharge whatsoever tonight. But at the moment, he didn’t mind that in the least.


	7. Chapter 7

It found Orion in the control room, while he was taking a quick break from decoding the archives and seeing what else the computers of the Nemesis were capable of doing. Orion was rather bad about staying aware of his surroundings while working, and so it was relatively easy to sneak up on him even at the best of times. Right now, he and a couple of the Vehicons were even more deeply engrossed in what they were doing, even if it wasn’t exactly vital to the Decepticon cause. The three of them didn’t even hear the tic of its feet on the metal floor, too busy watching images flash by on the screen.

“Why are there so many pictures of those fuzzy animals anyhow?” Paul muttered. “I don’t even know what they are.”

“The image descriptions call them ‘cats,’” Orion explained, checking a caption. “There seems to be a subspecies or related species that goes by the name of ‘lol-cats,’ but I can find no visual differences between the two…”

“Maybe the humans worship ‘em?” Mike suggested. “Anyhow, they’re kinda cute. A little weird, but cute.”

Orion activated a video, and Mike giggled out loud as he watched one of these cats scamper across a room. A few weeks ago Orion had discovered the Nemesis’ computers were able to access the humans’ information network, the Internet, and he had been seeing what it was capable of when the Vehicons had wandered in to investigate. To their great delight, the Internet was chock-full of fascinating stuff – a great deal of it weird and some of it rather shocking, but for the most part a delightful diversion whenever Orion needed a break or the Vehicons wanted some quick entertainment. It generally only took a few minutes to find something that would delight his new friends.

“Is that the grumpy cat?” Mike asked, pointing to an image that had come up during Orion’s search. “Hey Paul, he looks like you.”

“Shut up,” the grouchy Vehicon retorted. “I ain’t no fuzzy organic.”

“If animals are so plentiful on this planet, I wonder why more Cybertronians haven’t taken on animal form,” Orion mused, cocking his head at the screen. “It seems to me it’d be more convenient than vehicle form, which is dependent on the humans not discovering that said vehicles don’t have riders.”

“That’s what holograms are for,” Paul pointed out. “And seriously, who’d want to be a disgusting organic, even in body shape? Ugh. I’d rather give up my T-cog than go critter.”

“Is it that bad?” asked Orion.

“Eh, he’s just still creeped out by Airachnid,” Mike pointed out. “That and the organics are kinda disgusting – they’re squishy and they leak and leave waste everywhere, and some of the hairy ones shed like mad, and a lot of them smell funny…”

“Airachnid?”

“Oh, right, you weren’t here when she was around.” Mike shuddered. “She was freaky. Tried to take over when Megatron took off to…” He seemed about to say something here, but amended it at the last minute. “To take care of something. Soundwave mopped the floor with her, and she ain’t been back since.”

“Good riddance,” Paul huffed. “Hey, enough with the cat pictures. Where’s that Gundam Style video?”

“Gangam Style,” Orion corrected. “Gundam seems to be a human term for our kind, while Gangam seems to be the dance.”

“I dunno, never seen a Cybertronian that looked much like those Gundams,” Mike pointed out. “I mean, I can kinda see the resemblance…”

A blast of warm air, smelling of grease and rancid energon, wafted over their backs, and all conversation ground to a halt as they froze in place.

“There’s… something behind us,” Mike realized, shaking a little in fear.

“Ya think?” Paul retorted.

Orion braced himself, dearly wishing that Megatron had granted him a weapon of some sort, and slowly pivoted around. “H-hello?”

A fanged, battle-scarred face stared back, a V-shaped optic band glowing scarlet and curved horns sweeping down from its helm. Said face was attached to an equally-scarred, heavily-armored body, with jutting spikes and cruel claws granting it a vicious, animalistic look. It hissed with every vent of its fans, and a soft chittering issued from its vocalizer as it glared down at the data clerk and Vehicons. 

Mike and Paul whimpered in fear, and Orion couldn’t suppress a nervous shiver of his own. He’d seen the Insecticons prowling the halls of the Nemesis before, but they’d always left him alone, and he hadn’t done much study on them. Now face to face with one, he wished he’d thought to do more research. Were they intelligent, or just mindless drones? And most importantly at this moment… were they aggressive? Was this one looking for a fight, or just curious?

He decided that for now, he’d opt for the less aggressive route in dealing with the creature. Slowly raising his hands to show he was unarmed, he began speaking in a soft, hopefully friendly tone.

“Greetings,” he told the creature. “I am Orion Pax, data clerk and archivist. Who are you?”

The Insecticon cocked its head to the side, as if trying to compute what he was saying. Then it opened its mouth and gave a high, warbling cry right in Orion’s face. Mike shrieked in response and leaped right up into Orion’s arms, while Paul simply went limp and crumpled to the floor in a dead faint. 

“I… didn’t understand that,” Orion replied, trying to keep his voice even despite his intense urge to bolt in terror or lose control of his oil tanks right there. “Can… can you speak?”

“Only Hardshell speaks,” Mike whined, tucking his face against Orion’s chest. “The rest are just… vicious animals… oh Primus, don’t let it eat me…”

The Insecticon looked at Mike curiously, then tilted its head as if trying to roll its optics. It stepped forward and made a coughing noise with its vocalizer, sounding as if it were trying to expel a glob of grease from its throat. Orion backed up a step just in case something came flying out of its mouth, but all that emerged were a few gurgled syllables.

“Kkkkkkkkkk-grrraaaaaakkk!”

Mike shrieked again. “It’s gonna kill us!”

“Calm down,” Orion urged the Vehicon, carefully setting him down. “I think it’s just trying to communicate.” He gave the hulking mech a curious look, less nervous now that it seemed it wasn’t going to attack. “What are you trying to say?”

“Kkkkiiiikkkkk-grrraaaaakkkk!” it gurgled again, and pointed at its chest.

“Kick?” Orion frowned. “I didn’t get that second part.”

“Grraaakkk…” The Insecticon frowned as well, trying to work its mouth and vocalizer in proper synch to get the words out. “Graaaaak… gaaaaaak…” It shook its head, then tried one more time. “Baaaaak!”

“Back… Kickback?”

The Insecticon nodded eagerly.

“Insecticons don’t use guns, so why’s it talkin’ about kickback?” asked Mike. “Doesn’t have a gun to get kickback from.”

Orion pondered that a moment. “Kickback… it might not be the actual term he’s referring to, Mike. I think it’s his name.”

The Insecticon nodded eagerly and pointed to itself – himself – again. “Kkkiiiiiiik-baaaaaak!” He then reached out and poked Orion in the chest with a claw, hard enough to make him stumble back. “Rrrrrrrrrryyyyyyaaaaan!”

“Orion,” he corrected. “Try that. O-rye-an.”

“Oooooooooooryyyyaaaan!”

“Very good!” He couldn’t help a smile, and reached out to pat the Insecticon’s arm. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kickback. I’m quite glad to have met you.”

Kickback nodded and tried to reply with the same, but it came out a garbled mess of clicks, shrieks, and hisses before he finally shrugged and gave up.

“Hmmm…” Orion pondered a moment, then came to a decision. “Kickback, would you like me to try to teach you to speak properly? It seems you have the ability, it’s just that you haven’t in so long that the programming has gone latent. Perhaps with someone to coach you, you’ll improve.”

Kickback’s optic band lit up, and he nodded eagerly, baring all his fangs in a wide grin. Then he grasped Orion’s hand and tugged urgently.

“You want me to go with you?”

He nodded. “T-T-Teeeeeeeeeeessshhhhhh… Teeeeeeeeech!”

“Oh dear,” Mike whimpered. “I think he’s expecting you to teach all of them!”

Kickback gave Mike a look that, even with his vastly different face, plainly said “well, duh.” But then he resumed tugging urgently at Orion’s arm, trying to pull him out of the control room.

“Well… giving speech therapy to Insecticons wasn’t in my duties… but I suppose it can’t hurt.” He turned to Mike. “Did you want to come along and help?”

“Uh… I think I’ll stay here and wait for Paul to come to. Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” he promised. “If Megatron asks where I am, tell him I’m with the Insecticons, all right?”

Mike nodded, but he didn’t look too happy about it. “Just comm us if you change your mind, all right? Or if you get in trouble, I hear they can be aggressive, and you’re nice to us, I don’t want to see you hurt…”

Kickback gave an impatient hiss.

“All right, I’m coming,” Orion laughed. “I’ll be careful, Mike. I’ll see you at evening energon break.”

Mike watched the unlikely duo leave the control room, wringing his hands with worry. _If Orion gets himself eaten alive by Insecticons, Megatron’s gonna kill us…_

***

It wasn’t Megatron that descended into the lowest levels of the Nemesis some time later in search of Orion – it was another Vehicon. Normally the masked soldiers didn’t venture down to this level, and normally the Insecticons wouldn’t have allowed one of them to so much as cross the threshold of their lair away from home. Both models of soldiers kept their distance from one another when not on the battlefield, the Vehicons distrusting and fearing the Insecticons and the Insecticons seeing the Vehicons as cheap, weak cannon fodder. 

But Steve was desperate enough to find Orion that he was willing to chance entry… and the Insecticons were too distracted at the moment to try to stop him.

The Vehicon froze in place and just stared at the scene before him, so thoroughly befuddled that for a moment he forgot why he’d come here. The Insecticons were gathered before Orion, fixing all their attention on him like obedient students before an instructor. Orion sat on an overturned crate before them, a tiny Insecticon curled up in his lap (was that a sparkling?), speaking to his unlikely audience in slow, careful tones.

“Let’s try this again,” Orion stated, absently rubbing the little Insecticon’s back. “Hello.”

The entire swarm burst into sound, hissing and warbling. Steve backpedaled in sudden terror, but when it became apparent that they weren’t about to attack but were simply trying to mimic Orion, he calmed down. 

“Hello,” Orion repeated. “You need to use your glossa to get the L sound.”

“Llllllllll… lalalalalala!” trilled an Insecticon at the head of the pack.

“That’s a start.” Orion glanced up and spotted Steve, and he nodded once before returning his attention to the pack. “It looks like I’m out of time… but I’ll come back when I can and we can try again.”

The creatures growled in disappointment but dispersed, conversing amongst each other in hisses and chitters. One stayed behind and extended a hand toward Orion as he stood.

“Thank you,” Hardshell told the clerk, his voice sounding almost like a snarl of anger – though Steve guessed that must be the only way he knew how to talk. “None have ever extended much effort to help my troops before. This will benefit them greatly.”

“You’re quite welcome.” Orion shifted the little Insecticon to one arm in order to shake Hardshell’s hand. “I’ll be back when my schedule permits.”

Hardshell nodded and strode off. Steve waited until he was a good distance away before hurrying up to Orion.

“What on Cybertron are you doing?” he demanded.

“I thought it would help the Insecticons if they learned how to speak,” Orion replied. “They seem to be regarded as animals aboard this ship. If they were able to communicate properly, perhaps that could be changed.”

“And… why are you carrying one around?” He eyed the little Insecticon suspiciously, as if it were a scraplet. The sparkling looked up at him curiously before nuzzling against Orion’s chest and gnawing at his armor a bit.

“His creators were killed in battle,” Orion explained. “Kickback and his bondmate, Shrapnel, have been taking care of him in their stead, but it just seemed like he could use a little extra attention.” He looked down at the little one and smiled warmly. “They call him ‘Bob.’ It’s an odd name… but it fits.”

“Oh.” Steve held his hand out tentatively to the little Insecticon, who sniffed at his fingers before curling back up against Orion’s chest. “Um… are you done teaching? Because I needed to talk to you.”

“I’m through for today.” He carefully handed Bob over to a waiting adult Insecticon. “What’s wrong? Megatron’s not upset at what I’m doing, is he?”

“No, he’s not.” He probably wouldn’t be too happy about it when he did learn about it, but right now, he couldn’t exactly be upset about something he had no knowledge of. “Could we talk about this somewhere else?”

“Of course.” Orion frowned. “Are you all right? You seem anxious.”

“It’s just kind of important.” Steve turned to lead him out, only to yelp and backpedal as two hulking mechs moved to block their path, hissing menacingly.

“Buzzclaw, Chopshop, it’s all right,” Orion assured them. “He’s a friend.”

The two Insecticons glared a little more at Steve, then backed away, grumbling to themselves. Orion nodded politely at them before walking on, Steve in tow. Amazing, the young Vehicon thought, how Orion seemed to just get along with everyone aboard the Nemesis, from Megatron down to the lowliest drone. There wasn’t a mean circuit in his body… which made his new rank as a Decepticon all the stranger.

Finally Orion led Steve to a quiet corridor of the ship. “What’s wrong, Steve?”

Steve glanced around, making sure no one was around and that they were out of view of the security cameras, then turned back to Orion. “You know who Starscream is, right?”

Orion nodded. “Megatron’s former lieutenant. He’s told me… conflicting stories regarding him, first that he was dead, but then that he had abandoned the cause and joined the Autobots.” He looked thoughtful at that. “I suppose having his most trusted lieutenant betray him was a terrible blow, and he’d rather accept that he’s truly dead than admit he defected.”

Steve thought of several things he could say to that statement, none of them he could say without risking being blown away for treason. “He’s not with the Autobots… he’s taken off on his own, actually. And… he’s in a very bad way.”

Orion raised an optic ridge. “How do you know this?”

Steve shivered. “Don’t tell anyone… please don’t tell anyone, Megatron’ll have my spark chamber if…”

“Easy, Steve,” Orion assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Your secret will be safe with me. You’re my friend. I won’t hurt or betray a friend.”

That eased Steve’s CPU somewhat. “Elvis and I have been sneaking out of the base… slipping energon to Starscream. We haven’t been able to get out as often as we need to, and the last time we went out he was badly damaged, we think by Airachnid… Elvis did what he could to patch him up, but he’s still really bad off…” He felt his visor beginning to fog up as cleanser leaked from his optics, and he scrabbled at his mask as he tried vainly to wipe his face.

“You love him, don’t you?” Orion asked gently. “You’re in love with Starscream.”

Steve sobbed once and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He hadn’t admitted this to anyone outside the Vehicons, and even then few of his comrades knew about his unrequited crush on the Air Commander. He had never had the bolts to approach Starscream before his exile, and he still hated himself for missing out on that chance. Now, knowing he was about to lose the one he loved for good… he couldn’t bear it.

“Oh Steve… why didn’t you say anything before?” The clerk’s arms wrapped around him, drawing him close in a comforting hug. “I could have done something to help you.”

Steve looked up at him, a shiver of hope passing through his chassis. “You… you can do something now? Maybe?”

“Of course… anything.”

Steve tucked his face against Orion’s chest. “Could you… could you talk to Megatron? Maybe convince him to rescue Starscream? To bring him back here?”

Orion hesitated. “After what Starscream did to Megatron, do you really think…”

“Please?” Steve pleaded. “Megatron’ll listen to you. He won’t listen to any of us, we’re beneath his notice… but just maybe he’ll listen to you? And if you don’t do something… Starscream’ll die…” He sniffed, willing himself not to cry.

“All right,” Orion relented, patting Steve’s back. “I will try. I can’t make any promises… but I will try.”

Steve nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Orion cautioned, releasing him. “Bad oil seems to run between Megatron and Starscream, and I get the feeling that there’s more to it than Starscream abandoning the Decepticons. I can try to talk Megatron into helping, but I’m not sure he’ll actually do anything. But I will at least make the attempt.” He patted Steve’s shoulder one more time, then turned to go. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Orion.” _You’re going to need all the luck you can get,_ he wanted to add, but he held his vocalizer. The data clerk was clearly enamored with Megatron and couldn’t bear to see any bad in him – why shatter his illusion?

***

Megatron looked up from the datapad he was scanning and raised an optic ridge at the clerk. “My audials must have glitched. Repeat that.”

“I said that Starscream is in dire need of our aid,” Orion replied. “If we’re to save him, we have to move quickly.”

Had anyone else come before Megatron with this ridiculous proposal, they would have found themselves picking up their own shattered components from the floor. As it was, it took all his willpower to not lash out and strike Orion for his impertinence. And when he realized he was glaring at the clerk, he did his best to shift his expression to that of disappointed surprise.

“Starscream is a traitor to our cause,” he reminded him. “He abandoned us in our hour of greatest need. Why should we rescue the one who nearly destroyed us with his selfishness and pride?”

“Because he is deserving of another chance,” Orion argued. “He may have betrayed us… but surely he’s more than paid the price for his betrayal, if he’s as bad off as my sources say. He could be dying… and what kind of mechs would we be if we just sat back and let it happen?”

That was Autobot talk coming from his vocalizer, and for a moment Megatron wondered if all his work to keep Orion loyal wasn’t coming undone. He would have to find his source and silence them. One of the Vehicons, perhaps? He knew that Mike one tended to be a chatterbox, though sneaking out of the base to check on the former Air Commander would have been more Steve’s style…

He shook his head. Blast it, he’d been listening to Orion talk about the Vehicons long enough that he was starting to think of them by name instead of designation number. Next thing he knew, he’d be coddling the Insecticons or something…

“You propose that we accept Starscream, a known traitor to our cause, back aboard the Nemesis, simply because he’s faced a few difficulties on Earth? Do you honestly think he’s learned his lesson and will behave? I would rather not bring him aboard this ship, only for him to stab us all in the back once more.”

“I think that perhaps his time away from the Decepticons has humbled him,” Orion replied. “And I’m not saying we have to trust him right away. But abandoning him, leaving him to die… that’s Ratchet’s style, not ours. We can show him that the Decepticons are the better mechanisms, simply by showing him mercy whether he deserves it or not.”

Megatron nodded slowly, processing what Orion said. He did have a point – having to scrounge for his energy, hide from the humans, and fight off Autobots and Airachnid and MECH without any sort of backup would probably be sufficient to knock Starscream’s ego down a few notches. It might not have broken his spirit entirely, but at least it would ensure he behaved himself for the next little while. And perhaps knowing he owed his life to Megatron would make Starscream think twice about attempting to stab him in the back, at least for now.

“Megatron… please,” Orion pleaded. “You’re a good leader… surely you won’t let your anger toward Starscream win.”

“Enough, Orion,” the warlord told him. “I need no further convincing. We move out at once to retrieve Starscream.”

Orion smiled. “Thank you, Megatron. I know this will mean much to St- to the Decepticon cause.”

Megatron caught the slip but elected not to call him out on it at the moment. “Does your source of information have a location for our wayward Air Commander? He may not have much time, and the longer we waste time searching, the more likely it is that we bring back his deactivated chassis.”

“I’ll ask him for coordinates.” Orion grinned and, without warning, reached across the desk to hug Megatron tightly. “Thank you… this means a lot to me.”

For once, the Decepticon commander was rendered speechless, and he couldn’t even gather his wits enough to return the embrace. By the time he could form a response, Orion had walked out, a slight spring in his step.

_Did I… just agree to help Starscream?_ he thought, bewildered. _Just because Orion asked me to?_ Had he really gotten that soft? Or had Orion simply made a suggestion that made sense, even if his motivation for helping Starscream was far different from Megatron’s?

One thing was for sure – he wasn’t about to tell this to Soundwave. He didn’t think he’d be able to tolerate his communication officer’s smugness about this whole situation.

***

“Sir, I found something!”

Starscream groaned, barely stirring at the sound of that voice, wincing as even that small motion made the multiple gashes and dents in his armor sting anew. Vaguely he thought that perhaps he should be making some effort to get away from whatever had found him – Autobots? Human soldiers? One of the Vehicons still loyal to Megatron? But he could barely bring himself to care, let alone gather the strength to run or fly to safety.

“Ah, another one.” A different voice this time, one that registered in Starscream’s CPU… Silas, leader of MECH. “It looks weak… but it’ll do for our purposes. Get it bound and into the truck.”

“Yes sir.”

The Seeker knew he probably looked pathetic at the moment – curled up at the base of a cluster of trees, covered in dirt and the slag beat out of him by that spider-glitch of a femme. But at the moment, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to rest and be left alone… and if MECH offlined him before dissecting him for study and parts, at least he’d finally get a chance to sleep undisturbed…

A harsh scream cut into his audials, and he grimaced in annoyance. Did these flesh creatures have to be so noisy? He curled up tighter, hoping they would stop making noise and get whatever they were going to do to him done, but that scream was only the beginning. More shrieks rang through the air, then blaster fire… then a rending explosion, followed by the sickening squelch of organic creatures meeting their end at the hands – or rather feet – of superior life forms.

“Starscream.”

“Mhh…” He knew that voice. But he’d given up hope that the speaker would ever return…

“Starscream, can you hear me?”

He opened his optics… and could have wept in relief. Steve had returned just in time, and had fought off MECH to save him. A smile touched his features. Perhaps the Vehicon had the foresight to also bring energy, or even a medkit? These drone soldiers weren’t always the smartest, but one could hope…

A larger form loomed behind Steve, and Starscream felt his spark plummet. The Vehicon had betrayed him, fending off MECH just so Megatron could destroy him. Of course… he shouldn’t have expected his luck to change…

“Seal off the worst of his wounds and get him to the ground bridge,” Megatron ordered someone just out of Starscream’s field of vision. “And tell Knockout to have the repair bay ready.”

“Yes, Lord Megatron.” Was that Optimus’ voice? Oh right, he was a Decepticon now… was that a good thing or not? He couldn’t tell…

Gentle hands probed at his wounds, checking their severity before applying temporary patches, and Optimus continued to speak, though the words no longer made sense to Starscream’s audials. He was just so tired, he didn’t care what they did to him so long as he could rest. Perhaps Optimus would at least be merciful in offlining him…

“You’re safe now,” Optimus said at last, and carefully scooped him up in his arms. “You’re safe, Starscream. We’re taking you home.”

Home… the Nemesis was home again? That was good, right? 

“Thank you so much, Orion.” That was Steve again, sounding rather pleased. “I owe you.”

“Consider it a favor for a friend,” Optimus replied. “Let’s get him back to the ship.”

That was the last thing Starscream heard before his senses finally failed him, and he relaxed utterly as his systems forced him into recharge.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for something completely different! XD Veering away from Orion for a chapter...

Orion wanted to be there when Starscream came online after his repairs, and Megatron finally acquiesced, though not without some misgivings. Even now he stood near the berth, a silent but looming presence behind the data clerk as he sat beside the offline Seeker, both of them patiently awaiting his return to the world of the waking. Knockout also stood nearby, looking nervously between the damaged Seeker and the Decepticon commander as if expecting something terrible to happen at any moment.

Orion had to resist the urge to pick up one of Starscream’s hands and look at it more closely. It was so hard to believe this mech had been one of Megatron’s top warriors at one time – he was so thin and delicate looking. Soundwave looked similarly frail, but as a spy and communications officer he was rarely out on the front lines and so could afford a less durable chassis. Starscream looked as if he would snap in two at the slightest blow, yet still wore the weaponry of a warrior. And watching Knockout so effortlessly make repairs on the jetformer, as if he’d done it a dozen times before… it made Orion wonder just how many times the poor mech had suffered horrible damages during the war.

 _Perhaps that’s why he deserted the Decepticons,_ Orion mused. _Perhaps he just wanted to be away from the fighting._ That wouldn’t explain why he would defect to the Autobots, though.

Starscream shifted a little, wincing at the movement. In response Megatron moved a step closer, and Orion could practically feel the tension radiating from the larger mech’s body. There was a faint hum as his cannon powered up; no doubt he was fully expecting Starscream to come online fighting, and wanted to be prepared.

Finally the Seeker unshuttered his optics, turning to face Orion. His sweeping optic ridges quirked slightly in confusion, and his optics flickered briefly as he struggled to regain his bearings.

“It’s all right,” Orion assured him, reaching up to pat his shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

“Hnnngh.” Starscream shuttered his optics again, laying his head back. “What hit me? I feel like I got stepped on by a city-bot.”

“If Steve’s report is to be believed, you were attacked by something far less impressive than a city-bot,” Megatron put in, a faint smirk on his face. “Here I thought you were a match for Airachnid… I suppose I was wrong.”

Starscream opened his optics and glared up at Megatron. “You try facing off against a fully energized opponent when you’re starving and tired, _Lord_ Megatron.” He spoke the word Lord with a sneer, somehow managing to turn the title into a slur. “Besides, you didn’t see what shape SHE was in once I was through with her.”

“Impertinent as always…” Megatron began.

“Enough,” Orion urged, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Please, the both of you, stop fighting. Starscream’s hurt and needs to focus on recovering. Once he’s fully repaired, then we can decide what happens. But until then… could we simply let the past go and move on?”

Starscream gave Orion a weird, calculating look, as if coming to conclusions Orion wasn’t sure he would like. Then he gave a slight smile and nodded. “Of course, Orion Pax… and my apologies. Pain has simply made me touchy, I suppose. And perhaps we should heed your advice – so much good can come from letting go of the past. Wouldn’t you agree, Megatron?” He arched an optic ridge at the commander.

There was a brief flash of fangs, the beginning of a snarl, but Megatron composed himself just in time. “Of course. I’ll leave you be for the moment, Starscream. We’ll discuss your place aboard this ship once you’ve fully recovered.” And he turned on his heel and strode out.

Knockout relaxed so suddenly he literally sagged a moment. “Thank Primus that worked out.”

Orion nodded, feeling similarly relieved. Ever since they had brought Starscream aboard the Nemesis, Megatron had been tense and snappish, snarling his orders and treating everyone rather coldly. Whatever Starscream had done to him before defecting to the Autobots must have been devastating – doubly so if the two of them had been friends before Starscream’s betrayal. Orion just hoped that the two of them would be able to heal, both physically and emotionally, and find a way to mend the bridges between them before it was too late.

“So you’re still here,” Starscream noted, cocking his head at Orion. “Interesting.”

“Of course I’m here,” Orion replied. “I wanted to be sure you were all right. If it bothers you that I’m here, though, I can leave.”

Starscream chuckled. “How very thoughtful of you. Though I was referring to the fact that you’re still aboard the Nemesis.” He twitched a wing as Knockout carefully opened its paneling, checking the delicate wires for any damage he had missed. “I would have thought you’d be long gone by now.”

Orion frowned. “Where else would I have to go? There’s nothing on Cybertron for us. And this planet is under Autobot control. Here is the safest place, and the place where I can make the greatest contribution to the Decepticon cause.”

Starscream outright laughed at that. “Oh, that’s beautiful… hearing those very words come out of your mouth. I never imagined YOU would be declaring your loyalty to the Decepti-ow!” He turned to glower at Knockout. “Watch it, you buffoon!”

“So sorry,” Knockout replied in a tone that indicated he wasn’t sorry at all, smirking at Starscream. “My hand must have slipped. Please, pretend I’m not here and keep talking.” His smile took on a dangerous tilt at that, and Orion wondered if Knockout, too, still harbored bad feelings toward the former traitor.

“Perhaps I had Autobot sympathies before the war,” Orion replied. “But not now… not after hearing how Ratchet destroyed our home. No… my place is here, by Megatron’s side.”

Starscream gave him a long, studious look. Orion just stared back, wondering what he was thinking. He didn’t like that expression – it looked as if the Seeker were trying to dissect him with his very gaze.

“Ah, I see,” he said at last, a smile of realization on his faceplate. “It’s not just loyalty to the cause…” He caught himself before he could go on, and he settled back on the berth. “I’m too tired for further company now… but we should chat some more later. I have a feeling further discussions with you will be most illuminating.”

Knockout’s optics flashed slightly, but he didn’t comment, only shut the wing paneling back up and examined Starscream for any other glitches or damages.

“In that case, I should return to my duties.” Orion stood and pulled a stack of datapads from subspace, setting them on the table beside Starscream’s berth. The Seeker eyed them with a puzzled expression, then gave the clerk a weird look.

“Some classic fiction and historical volumes,” he explained. “For you to read if you need something to keep yourself occupied.”

“Oh.” Starscream gazed at the stack again, a confused frown on his face. Had it been so long since someone had done something kind for him?

A grunt from the door of the repair bay caught all three mechs’ attention, and they looked up to see an Insecticon lumbering into the repair bay. Starscream made a sound of disgust and recoiled, but Orion recognized the mech and waved him in with a chuckle. The Insecticon gave a happy gurgle and practically galloped on all fours to close the distance between the door and the berth, optics wide and bright with delight.

“What… is… that?” Starscream demanded.

“And more importantly, what is it doing in my medbay?” Knockout added, frowning.

“This is Softpaw,” he explained. “One of the Insecticons I’ve gotten acquainted with in the past week. He’s… a little simple. But he has a good spark, and is very friendly. I thought that perhaps having his company around might help you feel better while I can’t be here.”

Softpaw chittered happily and sat down heavily beside the berth, the armor covering his aft clanging loudly as it impacted on the floor. Starscream scooted to the far side of the berth and gave the creature a wary look. Knockout grimaced and gave Orion a look that plainly said “you have got to be kidding me.”

“Give him a chance,” Orion advised, smiling as he patted the Insecticon’s shoulder. “He just wants to help. And since he’s not the best fighter, this seems to be the best spot for him.” He gave Softpaw one more pat, then turned to go. “Comm me if you need anything.”

“What am I supposed to do with this thing?” Starscream demanded, but by that time Orion was already out the door. The clerk never saw Softpaw promptly grab the Seeker in a bear hug, nor Knockout rubbing his temples with a groan of resignation.

***

Knockout had declared Starscream good as new by the end of the week, and sent both him and his new Insecticon partner packing after one last scan. The medic normally wasn’t so quick with repairs – he was a careful and methodical repair tech, insisting that every scratch and dent in a patent be smoothed out and fixed before deeming him presentable for company. That, and he wasn’t above flirting outrageously with the mechs in his care, on the off chance that one might choose to repay him for his hard work with a night in his own berth rather than a repair berth.

But two factors had inspired the medic to speed up his work and get the former Air Commander out of his repair bay – Megatron wanted an audience with Starscream as soon as possible, and Knockout had finally reached the end of his patience with Softpaw. The Insecticon wasn’t aggressive, but his over-the-top enthusiasm was almost as bad, and when the creature had “thanked” Knockout for taking care of Starscream with an exuberant hug that had left deep scratches in his paint job, that was the last straw.

Starscream kept a hand on the Insecticon’s shoulder as the two of them walked through the corridors of the Nemesis, heading for the bridge and the inevitable encounter with Megatron. Softpaw was still whimpering sadly, as if he didn’t understand why Knockout had yelled at him. He’d only been trying to be nice, and to be repaid for that with a blistering tirade had been rather frightening for him.

Under normal circumstances, Starscream wouldn’t have cared if another mech had been on the receiving end of a rant from the vain medic – he’d simply have rolled his optics and gone about his business. But seeing Softpaw cringe away from Knockout, shaking with fear, had unexpectedly jolted his spark. Never mind that Softpaw was three times Knockout’s size and could have crushed the medic with ease; to see him cowering like that seemed sparkbreaking instead of pathetic… and had made him want to stand up and defend the Insecticon.

It didn’t help that watching the incident had reminded Starscream that he was probably due for a similar outburst at Megatron’s hands… or worse, depending on what kind of mood the Decepticon commander was in. And unlike Softpaw, he hadn’t the strength to stand up for himself it Megatron chose to get physical.

Idly he reached up to scratch at the pincer-like horn on the side of Softpaw’s head, and the larger mech leaned into the touch, making a growling sound that was almost a purr. Primus below, he shouldn’t be so fond of a fragging bugformer. He was clumsy, stupid, and had no sense of personal space whatsoever. Yet he was generous with his physical affection and always happy to see Starscream… one of the few mechs to show him true kindness in longer than he could remember. He was an odd companion, but Starscream was loathe to give him up.

“Why do you like me so much?” he demanded, giving Softpaw his best glare. “Everyone else despises me. What makes you care?”

Softpaw chirped confusedly, then ducked his head low to nuzzle against Starscream.

“You stupid creature,” he muttered, but he couldn’t infuse enough anger into that phrase to make it an insult. He simply patted his shoulder and gently nudged his head away, indicating they should move on. No sense sticking around and letting someone see him getting cuddly with an Insecticon. What was left of his pride wouldn’t survive that.

As they continued down the hallways, taking the longest route possible in order to delay the meeting with Megatron as long as he could, Starscream couldn’t help but think about Optimus – or Orion or whatever the slag he was calling himself now. He still wasn’t sure exactly why the former Prime was now on the Decepticon side, though if he’d heard right from gossip around the ship some sort of memory wipe was at least partially responsible. And it seemed Megatron was trying to keep him on their side by insisting that the Decepticons were good and noble and sickeningly heroic… and the entire ship was in on the cover-up, keeping on their best behavior and silencing any talk that might blow the ruse. 

No one would ever ask his opinion, he was sure, but he rather thought that the whole thing was bound to backfire spectacularly any time now. They couldn’t keep their true intentions secret forever, and Orion was bound to come across information in the archives that contradicted whatever stories Megatron had told them. And from everything he’d seen, Orion was just too kind to convert fully to the Decepticon side – naïve, to be sure, but kind-sparked and willing to help anyone, even a traitor to his newfound cause.

Well, if this whole mess did blow up in Megatron’s face, at least it would be good for entertainment value, provided Starscream was still alive to see it. He had a nasty feeling that this whole thing would end with Orion’s death, however, for Megatron wasn’t above slaughtering mechs who had outlived their usefulness to him. Shame, really. Orion was a bright mech, and it would be a tragic waste of a good CPU…

“Starscream?”

Without thinking the Seeker yelped and ducked behind Softpaw. The Insecticon craned his head around to stare at Starscream, gurgling softly as if trying to reassure him, then turned back around and snarled at the newcomer, every joint in his body tensing to spring. So the big guy had some fighting instincts after all. Perhaps having an overprotective Insecticon on his side wasn’t a bad thing.

“Ack!” yelped the speaker. “Sir, please, call him off!”

“Oh, it’s you,” Starscream noted. “Softpaw, down. Sit. He’s a friend.” Well, “friend” might be pushing it, but aside from Softpaw and Orion this mech had been the only one show kindness toward Starscream in who knew how long. It wouldn’t be right to let the Insecticon tear into him.

Softpaw huffed and sat down, though he didn’t let up glaring at the Vehicon as he scooted around his bulk. He continued to watch as Steve moved to Starscream’s side, as if not trusting the smaller mech.

“Starscream, sir, I heard you were released from the medical center,” said Steve. “Are you all right?”

“Just peachy,” Starscream replied, unable to keep a sour note out of his voice. Sure, he was all right now, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be so fine once Megatron was through with him.

“Are you sure? You were in pretty bad shape when we found you, sir… I just want you to be okay…” He looked down, as if just realizing he was wringing his hands in worry, and he quickly hid them behind his back. “Is that your bodyguard or something?”

“Something like that.” Starscream wasn’t sure whether Softpaw qualified as a bodyguard or a pet, really. The Insecticons seem to veer between acting like sentient mechs and acting like animals on a whim, as if they couldn’t decide which category they fit under. Maybe they just liked the best of both worlds – the rights of a mech but the excuse to act like animals.

“Is there anything I can do for you, sir?” Steve asked, cocking his head to the side. “Do you need anything?”

Starscream snorted. Wasn’t he an overly helpful sort. “Just someone to collect my pieces once Megatron’s through with me,” he muttered darkly. 

Steve’s visor flickered at that, as if in shock. “D-don’t say that, sir… Megatron wouldn’t have let you aboard this ship if he intended to just kill you…”

How dumb were these Vehicons anyhow? “I’m not stupid,” he grumbled. “I know full well that the only reason Megatron rescued me was to perpetuate the ruse that he’s suddenly some noble revolutionary and hero. It’s an act to keep Orion on his side, and Orion’s buying it completely. I’m not so delusional as he is – there’s nothing stopping Megatron from beating the scrap out of me and claiming I attacked him first.” He wasn’t exaggerating to scare the Vehicon – he was simply stating what he saw as fact. At this point, as far as he could see, he was worth nothing to Megatron, save as a tool to keep Orion loyal.

Steve looked down at his feet, processing everything Starscream said. Starscream patted Softpaw’s side, a silent order for the two of them to go on. If they delayed this meeting any longer, Megatron would come looking for them, and that would just make whatever the warlord planned to do all the worse…

“Sir, could I come with you?”

Starscream whirled to stare at the soldier. “W-what?”

“I want to come with you,” Steve insisted. “I want to be there for you. Maybe if your Insecticon friend and I stand up for you against Megatron, he won’t hurt you… or at least he’ll go easy on you. And if not… then… then I’ll do whatever I can to protect you.”

The Seeker sputtered a moment before he could find the proper words. “Th-that’s insane. He’ll kill you!”

“Then I’ll accept it.” Steve met Starscream’s gaze, and despite the mask he could read the defiance in every line of his body. “I’d rather die than see you hurt, sir. If he tries to hurt you… I’ll try to stop him. And even if he kills me, that at least buys you time to escape.”

Starscream just stared, oblivious to the fact that his mouth was hanging open in shock. Surely he was hearing things… he couldn’t mean this, could he? No mech had ever been willing to lay their life down for him before. And yet here was not one, but two ready to do just that – Softpaw willing to drop his friendly demeanor to attack what he saw as a threat, and Steve willing to suffer a gruesome death at Megatron’s hands to save him. This was an entirely new experience, and he had no idea how to process it.

Softpaw chirred softly and lightly bumped his head against Starscream’s chest, breaking him out of his trance. He absently reached up to rub at the Insecticon’s helm, though he didn’t take his gaze off of Steve.

“Why?” he asked at last.

“Because…” Steve hugged himself and stared down at the floor, mumbling something.

“Speak up,” Starscream ordered. “I can’t hear you.”

“Because… I…” He looked away. “I love you. There, I said it.” He kept going, as if admitting it had finally opened the floodgate. “I’ve always loved you, sir… always admired you from the ranks, even though I knew you would never notice a lowly Vehicon like me. You were always so graceful, so brave, so gorgeous… I couldn’t help it. That’s why I snuck out to make sure you had energon when you were gone, and why I talked Orion into planning your rescue. Even if you never laid an optic on me, I couldn’t stand the thought of the mech I loved being hurt.”

Well… that hadn’t been the answer he’d been expecting. He thought Steve had been trying to curry favor with him, thinking that if he helped the former Air Commander, he’d get something out of it. To know it was something as straightforward, yet as incredible, as love… it was more than a little overwhelming.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he murmured. “Sorry for not being able to control my feelings. If you don’t want me around anymore… I understand. I’ll go.”

“No,” Starscream blurted, and reached out to take Steve’s hand. “No… don’t go. Why did you never say anything about this earlier, you silly Vehicon? Instead of letting it fester for so long?”

“I-I thought you’d never look twice at me, sir…”

“Starscream. It’s Starscream, not sir. I haven’t a rank anymore anyhow… and you don’t call those you love ‘sir.’”

“Yes, sir – I mean Starscream.” He looked up, seeming to brighten a bit. “It’s… it’s okay, sir? You’re not mad?”

“Well, it’d be stupid to be angry with you for your feelings,” Starscream chuckled. “And no… I’m not angry.” He was actually rather flattered and even touched, now that the shock had worn off somewhat. He’d always assumed he would never find a mate – he’d had partners in the past, but never anyone he truly considered a lover. And he’d never thought anyone would look at him as anything other than a traitor or a lackey.

Well… he could think of worse lovers than a Vehicon. And even if this relation didn’t last – if it even got started, depending on what Megatron did with him – he would enjoy whatever they had.

He didn’t let himself reconsider – he leaned forward and lightly brushed his lips against Steve’s forehead. Steve blushed brightly enough that Starscream could feel the heat of it even through the mask, and a shudder went through his frame at the contact. 

“S-sir…”

“Starscream,” he corrected gently.

“Starscream… thank you.”

Starscream gave a soft laugh. “Don’t thank me yet. This could end in both our dooms.”

Steve squeezed his hand. “At least we go together?”

“A romantic sort of notion… but not entirely unfavorable.” Starscream nodded down the corridor. “We’d best not keep our lord waiting too long.”

Softpaw gurgled happily, and Starscream wondered just how much of this the big lug had picked up. At any rate, he seemed happy for the Seeker, and didn’t object to Steve joining their bizarre little group. Maybe he knew exactly what was going on and approved of it… or maybe he was just happy that Starscream was happy. So long as he didn’t attack Steve, he was fine with that.

Together the Seeker, Vehicon, and Insecticon made their way to the bridge, ready to face whatever fate awaited them.

***

Megatron had expected Starscream to flee outright rather than confront him, and to have to send his soldiers to drag him before him. He hadn’t expected the mech to arrive of his own free will, accompanied by a Vehicon and Insecticon. So the traitor had a grain of courage in his chassis after all. That alone was enough to take the edge of his temper, even if it didn’t mollify him entirely.

Starscream paused at the door to the bridge, then drew himself up straight before walking in, wings raised, head high. The Vehicon – Steve, Megatron recalled – and the Insecticon – one of the sub-par fighters, though who knew if those things even had designations – followed him in, but Starscream gestured for them to stay at the door. Both looked uncomfortable with the order but complied, though they never took their visors off the Seeker as he approached the Decepticon Commander.

Like the two soldiers, Megatron never let his optics waver from his wayward subordinate. Starscream, for his part, kept his optics on Megatron, his gaze steady as he made his way forward. Only when he was directly before his superior did he look away, his gaze moving to the floor as he knelt at the larger mech’s feet.

“All right,” he said in a low, resigned tone. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Define ‘this,’” Megatron replied, arching an optic ridge.

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” demanded Starscream. “It’s what you do to traitors to the cause. Just make it quick, will you? I’d rather not spend my final moments in pain, begging for mercy.” He sounded mostly nonchalant about his own fate, though there was a tremor of fear in his voice, and his wings quivered slightly.

It would be in his best interest to do exactly as Starscream expected, he knew – to draw gun or blade and snuff his spark out right here and now. This mech had double-crossed him too many times already, and to spare his life now would be stupidity of the highest order. It would be for the good of all the Decepticons.

And yet… he hesitated. Something wouldn’t allow him to raise his weapon-arm on the Seeker. Despite knowing how many times Starscream had plotted against him, and how absolutely treacherous, not to mention inept and infuriating, he was, he found himself recoiling from striking him down. Even when Starscream was practically offering himself to the butcher’s knife, he couldn’t bring himself to kill him.

This was absurd. It was one thing to not want to kill Orion – the mech was too useful to their cause. But finally having the chance to be rid of Starscream should have been a pleasure. Instead, he was balking at the thought of killing his own treasonous subordinate. What the frag was wrong with him?

His gaze flickered to one side, where Soundwave and Dreadwing were both watching the drama play out. Both were staring at him, fully expecting him to destroy Starscream. Dreadwing even looked rather impatient, and seemed to be wondering what was taking him so long.

Megatron cursed himself inwardly and looked back down at the kneeling Seeker. “Get up. You’re making a spectacle of yourself. And I’m not going to kill you… not today.”

Starscream glanced up, optics bright with shock. Behind him, he could hear Soundwave give a staticky cough and Dreadwing grunt in surprise. In the doorway, Steve sagged to the floor in a dead faint while the Insecticon whined in confusion.

“Y-you’re not?” Starscream blurted. “B-b-but…”

“Do you WANT me to kill you?” Megatron demanded. “Get up. You may be a treacherous coward, but I still have need of you. Our war with the Autobots is far from over, and we need every able-bodied Decepticon we have to crush them and retake Cybertron.” He thought a little longer, knowing he had to make a stronger argument for not offlining the Seeker. “Besides, you’ve learned by now that you have no chance of surviving on your own. Perhaps your… misadventure… has taught you a lesson in humility.”

Starscream stood, wobbly on his feet with relief. “I… I have indeed learned my lesson, Lord Megatron. And you are most merciful, most magnanimous…”

“Flattery ill suits you,” Megatron growled. “And the next time you double-cross me it will end with your head separated from your chassis. Am I clear?”

“P-Perfectly, Lord Megatron.” He bowed deeply. “How may I begin to make amends for my treachery?”

Before Megatron could reply, claxons began sounding throughout the ship. Lights on the computer consoles flared bright red, and a readout blanked out, to be replaced with a display of what appeared to be figures moving in on the Nemesis’ location.

Soundwave acted immediately, slamming one of his data tentacles into the nearest computer port. His visor flickered, then he quickly broadcast a message to all mechs in the room. AUTOBOTS HAVE FOUND THE NEMESIS. AIRBORNE UNITS MOVING IN ON OUR LOCATION.

“When in the Allspark’s name did Autobots gain the ability to fly?” demanded Dreadwing, scowling.

“Never mind that,” Megatron retorted. “Decepticons, move out! Starscream, you will prove you’re still worth something to me by leading a squad of Eradicons against the Autobots. Do NOT fail me.”

“Of course not, my Lord.” Starscream bowed a final time before transforming and shrieking for the door, sending the Insecticon scurrying for cover.

“Dreadwing, take a second squad and cover our rear,” Megatron ordered. “Soundwave, guard the ship and destroy any who make their way aboard. I’ll deal with whoever’s leading the Autobots personally.”

Soundwave nodded. Dreadwing’s scowl never wavered, but he sprinted for the door, nearly colliding with Orion on his way out. The clerk quickly stepped out of the way, optics bright with surprise.

“Megatron, what’s going on?” he asked.

“An Autobot attack,” Megatron replied shortly, striding for the door. “Stay in your quarters, Orion. You’ll be safest there. I’ll comm you when it’s safe to come out.”

Orion reached out to put his hand on Megatron’s arm. “Sir, let me come with you.”

“No!” he barked, more harshly than he intended. Orion stepped back, surprised.

“No,” Megatron replied more calmly. “You haven’t the battle training, Orion. If you go out there, Ratchet and his followers will slaughter you. And it would kill me if anything happened to you.”

Orion bit his lip worriedly. “I want to help you, Megatron. I can’t stand the thought of just sitting here while you risk your life on the battlefield. Please… allow me to fight alongside you.”

A surge of mixed emotions filled Megatron at that statement – triumph and pleasure that Orion was firmly enough on their side to want to join in the battle against the Autobots, but at the same time apprehension that seeing said Autobots might rekindle old memories. In the end, he decided on a delay tactic.

“Stay in your quarters for this battle,” he urged. “Then when I return, I will teach you to hold your own on the battlefield. This I promise.”

Orion managed a slight smile. “Thank you. And Megatron… be safe.”

“I will.” He leaned in and kissed Orion gently. “I will return to you. This I vow.”

When he released the data clerk and turned to go join the battle he noticed Dreadwing staring at him, optics narrowed. His interlude with Orion had not gone unnoticed. A glower from Megatron sent the blue mech off on his way, but all the same it sparked a flicker of worry…

He shoved it aside and ran for the exit. Time enough to worry about things when the battle was over. Right now they had Autobots to drive off or crush. Either option pleased him at the moment.


	9. Chapter 9

“Well, that could have gone better,” Bulkhead muttered.

“Quiet and hold still!” Ratchet ordered, pushing the green mech back down on the berth. “You’re nowhere near repaired enough to go!”

“Well, hurry it up, doc,” Bulkhead retorted. “We gotta get back up there while we still can! Get Optimus off that flying tin can before Megatron can make a break for it!”

“By the time we get everyone repaired enough to fight, it’ll be too late,” Arcee protested. “Whoever was flying that thing was gunning the engines when we left. It’s probably long gone by now.”

Ratchet allowed himself the brief luxury of an exhausted sigh before going back to work, patching Bulkhead up as best he could. What a mess. This was the third rescue mission to go south, and this time it had ended up with every single Autobot damaged in some way, though thankfully none fatally. Was this a sign from Primus to give up, to accept that they would never get Optimus back and find a way to move on without him?

When Heatwave had alerted their base to announce the Nemesis had been sighted just a few miles from Griffin Rock, the Autobots hadn’t even stopped to form a plan – they’d simply locked up the base and moved out, intent on getting aboard the warship and rescuing Optimus. Even Fowler had accompanied them, though they’d left the human children behind – Ratchet figured they would only be a hindrance on this mission. Miko, naturally, had been quite vocal in her displeasure, but in the end there had been little she could do about it.

Heatwave, too, had wanted to assemble his team and join in the fight, but Ratchet had talked him out of it. Sending their rescue forces into battle would have been insane, not to mention tantamount to murder, given that none of them had any real combat experience. And keeping them safe was also a matter of the survival of their race – if anything were to happen to Ratchet and his team, at least those four would have been safe.

Despite not being allowed to join the fight directly, Heatwave and his team had been able to contribute to their fight. With the help of their human allies, they had developed special thruster packs that could give a Cybertronian without an air-vehicle alt mode the ability to fly. After a quick crash course from Blades and Doctor Green on how to use the packs, the Autobots had taken off for the Nemesis, hoping that their newfound abilities would give them some advantage, or at least the element of surprise.

In the end, Ratchet thought bitterly, all their “advantage” had done was give them a false sense of security. The Decepticons were programmed and trained to fight on the wing, and had easily trounced the inexperienced Autobots. The only reason nobody had been killed was because Ratchet had called a retreat as soon as it became obvious the battle was going south. Arcee had stubbornly refused to flee with the others, however, and Ratchet had to send Bulkhead back to knock her out and haul her off, an action that had nearly gotten Bulkhead killed.

The lone bright spot to this mission was that Ratchet had managed to score a direct hit on Megatron during the fighting, carving a deep gash across his hip and down his leg. That had nearly cost him his life, but it at least proved in his CPU that the warlord was not invincible, and that he could be taken down if they could simply get close enough to carry the deed out. 

But in a way, Ratchet almost wished he had never struck that blow. For that had allowed him to get close enough to talk… and Megatron had said something that would haunt him for a long time to come…

_“Wretched medic! You will pay for this with your own oil!”_

_“I’d like to see you try, you big tin turkey!”_

_“Don’t tempt me, Autobot! When will you fools learn that your cause is ultimately doomed?”_

_“Enough of this! Give us back Optimus and we’ll stop hassling you!”_

_A wicked grin. “No… I think I’ll keep him around. He’s rather useful to me at the moment. Not to mention he’s quite… gifted… in the berth.”_

_“What… you wouldn’t DARE…”_

_“Such a fine specimen of a mech on hand… how could I refuse? No, you won’t be taking him from me. He’s too useful, in more ways than one…”_

“You okay, doc?”

Ratchet looked up at Bulkhead, startled. “What?”

“You were spacin’ out there. Megatron whack you that hard?”

Ratchet shook his head, though that couldn’t totally clear out the horror of Megatron’s revelation from his CPU. Knowing he was using Optimus as a pawn was bad enough… but to hear that Megatron was essentially raping him, taking advantage of his amnesiac state to have his way with him, was even more horrifying. And while it made him all the more determined to rescue him, it also made him wonder what kind of shape their leader would be in by the time they finally freed him of the warlord’s clutches.

“I’m fine,” Ratchet replied shortly. “You’re done, now get out. Arcee, your turn.”

Bulkhead rolled off the berth and limped over to the TV set in the back, where Miko awaited him. Arcee settled in for her repairs, glaring up at Ratchet. 

“Next time I call for a retreat, you’d fragged better listen,” Ratchet told her firmly, and began scanning her to find the extent of her damages. “You could have been killed, or gotten Bulkhead killed. And we can’t afford to lose any more Autobots.”

“You let them get away,” Arcee said accusingly. “We had a chance to get Optimus back, and you abandoned him.”

Ratchet gave her a glare of his own before setting the scanner aside. “Even Optimus knew when to retreat and fight another day. We were outgunned and outnumbered – if we had continued to fight, we would have been massacred.”

“Optimus wouldn’t have left an ally behind,” she retorted. “He would have found a way. Even in the face of impossible odds, he would have stayed until we rescued-“

“Well, I’m not Optimus Prime!” Ratchet snapped, causing Arcee to recoil slightly. “Look, Arcee, I’m sorry I’m not as good and heroic a leader as Optimus was, but I’m doing the best I slaggin’ can! If you think you can do better leading the Autobots, then be my guest!”

The small femme stared up at him, shock overtaking her anger. Ratchet just glared, focusing on venting until he got his anger under control before continuing.

“Sorry,” Ratchet said at length. “It’s just… been hard. You’re not the only one that misses him, you know.” He picked up a tool and resumed his work. “Let me finish everyone’s repairs. Then we’ll talk about going back. But know this – our first priority is making sure Optimus has Autobots to come back home to. We do him no good getting ourselves killed trying to save him. Understand me?”

She only nodded, and stayed quiet for the rest of the repair session. Thank Primus for small miracles, Ratchet thought darkly. He’d known he was no replacement for Optimus, but Arcee’s comments certainly weren’t helping. If they didn’t get Optimus back soon, would the Autobots fission apart, going their separate ways? Primus, he hoped not.

***

Megatron hissed in agony as he made his way to his quarters, each step jarring the freshly welded wounds in his leg. Blast that medic – for not being built or programmed to fight, he could deal some particularly nasty and painful wounds. Knockout had given him the strongest pain program he had on hand before repairing him, but warned him that it would take awhile to kick in fully. Until then, he supposed he had to simply suffer through it.

The knowledge that they had driven off the Autobots with ease did little to brighten his spirits. Then again, it was difficult to feel at all triumphant when one was still covered in the grime and fluids of the battlefield. Still, there should have been some sense of pride at today’s victory, and to his dismay he only found exhaustion and pain.

 _Perhaps it’s just become too easy,_ he thought darkly. _Without Optimus there to provide a challenge, it’s simply sparkling’s play to defeat them. There’s no satisfaction to be had from crushing a weak foe._

He never thought the day would come when he would actually miss Optimus, but there you had it. Oddly enough, it had always been a pleasure to go against the Autobot leader on the battlefield. Despite the two of them being mortal foes, he had never once been a boring opponent – well, unless his silly speeches about laying down their weapons and ending the war counted, but he could suffer through a couple of those if it meant an entertaining fight after his inevitable refusal.

Perhaps it was time to start training Orion after all. Even a practice spar with the mech would be interesting. And he wondered if fighting alongside his former foe would be as exciting as fighting against him. Who could say?

Once he reached his quarters, the first thing he did was open his stash of high-grade, downing half a cube without even tasting it. Perhaps a jolt of energy would help take the edge off the pain, and help him settle a bit. Despite his exhaustion from the battle he still felt keyed-up and restless, pent-up aggression still buzzing through his systems. The fight with the Autobots must have been more unsatisfying than he realized.

A trip through the washrack helped rinse off the grime and take the edge off his weariness, but did nothing about his restlessness. Once he dried himself off he toyed with going to the training simulator for a few rounds. If nothing else, at least it would tire him out enough for an undisturbed recharge. 

On the way there, however, he passed Orion’s quarters. And after a moment’s thought, he turned around and headed back for the data clerk’s room.

Orion reclined on his berth, reading a datapad, when Megatron entered the room. He glanced up, and a smile briefly crossed his faceplate upon seeing the Decepticon leader. But his smile faded, and his optics brightened with concern.

“What happened? Are you all right?” He set the datapad aside and made to push himself off the berth.

“Relax,” Megatron ordered with a wave of his hand. “The battle is won. The Autobots have retreated, with minimal damages to our side. The Nemesis is safe.”

Orion frowned. “You don’t look as if you just won a battle. What’s wrong?”

Megatron sighed deeply and made his way into the room, not bothering to hide his limp. “War is not the glamorous occupation the archives make it out to be, Orion. It’s a gruesome, exhausting ordeal, one I pray you never have to face.” He collapsed into the chair, giving a slightly exaggerated groan. “And I was injured during the battle. Our kind medic Ratchet cornered me and nearly took my leg off before I could escape him.”

Orion’s optics flared at that. “You were damaged? Are you going to be all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” he assured the clerk with a tired smile. “Knockout is the best at what he does. It hurts a little, but nothing I can’t live through.”

Orion relaxed at that. “I wish I could help you somehow. If I can’t fight, could I at least get a little medical training? I want to make this easier for you however I can.”

“You do so much for me already, my friend.” Megatron reached out and took Orion’s hand in his. “Your work in the archives will be a great boon for us. Perhaps one of the artifacts you uncover through your research will be the key to ending the war, or to restoring our homeworld to its former glory. Perhaps with your help, we can end this conflict once and for all. Wars are not simply won by warriors – and perhaps a dedicated archivist will be the champion Cybertron needs.”

A slight flush of blue crept up Orion’s faceplate at that. “You flatter me, Megatron… I don’t feel I do that much for the Decepticons. But if it helps you, then I’ll keep doing it.” He smiled, and the expression was so loving and tender that Megatron could hardly believe it was directed at him. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“I know,” Megatron murmured, voice huskier than he’d intended.

Orion hesitated, then tugged on Megatron’s hand, as if trying to pull him closer. Megatron obliged, rising from the chair and moving in close to kiss the younger mech. It was a simple brush of lip plates, gentle and brief, but there was the promise of something more behind it…

Orion lay back, and Megatron climbed onto the berth, holding himself over the younger mech and leaning down to continue the kiss. His engine purred in satisfaction as he ran his hands over the truckformer’s frame, feeling him arch beneath him. Perhaps this was what he needed – an interlude of pleasure to offset the pain and violence of before.

He’d never had a lover quite like Orion before, he thought as he continued to touch and caress the mech beneath him. Too often his partners would simply lay there as he interfaced with them, or react aggressively as if hoping to top him. The former was simply boring, and the latter had its thrills but in most cases annoyed him. And he’d had quite enough of being topped by his fellow gladiators during the arena days… and he would rather suppress those memories.

Orion fell into neither category, much to his delight. He seemed content with being submissive, and yet he responded so beautifully under Megatron’s hands. If Megatron touched a sensitive region, Orion would gasp and arch or squirm beneath him; if he caressed a headfin, Orion would lean into the touch like a turbohound being petted. And if he slipped a claw into a gap in his armor to stroke a sensitive circuit, or slid a couple of digits into his valve and moved them just so… the reaction was spectacular.

For a time Megatron was content to simply touch and caress, nip and taste, to watch as Orion squirmed and writhed deliciously in reaction, to wring the most glorious sounds from his vocalizer. Primus, he wished he’d thought to record this. The simple sight of the clerk in pleasure was one of the most arousing sights he’d seen in a long time.

Finally he leaned down and caught Orion’s mouth in his, kissing deeply as he pumped three fingers into his valve. Orion wrapped his arms around him, hips rocking against his hand, whimpering as Megatron drove him to the very brink… and finally cried out into the warlord’s mouth as overload took him, his valve tightening around his claws, fluid drenching both their abdominal plates from Orion’s spike.

Megatron held the kiss until the overload passed, leaving Orion shivering in the aftermath. He drew his hand away from his partner’s valve and moved in to replace it with his spike, a shudder running through his frame as the slick heat enveloped him. Orion trembled beneath him, and moved to wrap his legs around Megatron’s hips, holding him in place.

“Mega… Megatron…” he gasped.

“Orion.” The name came out almost a growl, his voice low and rough with arousal. He lowered his head to kiss and nip at the clerk’s neck cables, moving within him in slow, deep strokes. Orion groaned, still sensitive from his recent overload, and began to move in time with him, venting deeply.

It didn’t take him long to approach overload himself, but he held back, wanting to relish this as long as he could. The feeling of Orion beneath him, helpless in the thrall of pleasure, his chassis warm and thrumming with passion against him, was too delicious not to savor.

At last he couldn’t contain himself any longer, the pent-up heat in his belly finally releasing as he overloaded hard inside Orion. He gave a snarl of pleasure and thrust into him a final time, and was rewarded with an ecstatic wail as the clerk hit his second overload of the night. For a moment that seemed an eternity he held there, bliss washing over him in powerful waves.

When the pleasure finally ebbed away he made to pull out of Orion, but the clerk kept his legs locked around him, holding him in. He gazed down at the younger mech, who looked up at him with a tired but elated expression.

“S-stay?” he murmured. “You feel… good…”

Megatron chuckled softly and lowered himself to kiss him again. “Just don’t fall asleep with my spike still in you. Mechs have gotten stuck like that before.”

Orion managed a giggle at that. “I’ll bet Knockout has stories about that.”

“I’m sure he does.” Megatron reached up to stroke Orion’s helm, content to lay with him for now. His earlier restlessness was gone, replaced by a languid bliss. He’d needed this… needed a moment of gentle passion to relieve his agitation. The fact that it helped further solidify Orion’s loyalty to him didn’t exactly hurt either.

It was a rare moment of peace and content for Megatron… and then Orion had to go ruin it.

Blue-white light spilled over Megatron’s face and chest, and for a moment he wondered where it was coming from. The answer came when he glanced down at the mech beneath him – Orion’s chest plates had come open, revealing his spark. Surprising, but not entirely out of the ordinary – occasionally a mech’s chest would open involuntarily after a particularly intense session of interfacing.

“Your chest…” Megatron began, raising a hand to help him shut it.

Orion just smiled, and moved his hands to open his chest further. “Bond with me,” he murmured. “Please… I love you. I want to belong to you, body and spark.”

Megatron could only stare, floored by the request. No one had ever asked this of him before. He had never even considered that another Cybertronian could love him enough to want to be his bondmate, to do this ultimate act of sealing and binding. And while gaining Orion’s love had been the ultimate goal of all this, he hadn’t imagined the clerk would love him deeply enough to want… this.

Cautiously he reached into the younger mech’s chest, tracing the rim of the spark chamber with the tip of a claw. The spark, blue-white but shimmering with other colors like a polished opal, seemed to flutter at the touch. It was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen… and Orion was offering it up to him, his very identity and life.

It should have been a compliment of the highest order… and yet it only sent one panicked thought through Megatron’s CPU: _He’ll know!_

He drew his hand back as if it had been burned. What Orion wanted was impossible. If they bonded, Orion would see everything within Megatron’s own spark – and he would learn the truth. He would know that it had been Megatron who had started the war, Megatron who had laid waste to their homeworld in his quest for power. And worst of all he would know he had been lied to, that all this had been an act to gain his loyalty. If Megatron consented to this, it would undo everything he had worked to build.

Forcing himself not to let his moment of panic show, he rested his hands on Orion’s chest plates and slid them closed. “I’m sorry, Orion… I can’t.”

Orion’s smile vanished, and hurt shone in his optics. “But Megatron…”

“I wish it could be otherwise,” he murmured, and was surprised to find he didn’t have to feign the disappointment in his voice. “But I cannot belong to one mech only. I am the leader of the Decepticons, and that means my loyalties must be to all my people, not just one mechanism. My position takes precedence over all else… and sadly, that means I cannot have a bondmate.”

Orion looked away, optic fluid glistening at the corners of his optics. “I… I understand… but it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that we can’t be… can’t…”

Megatron eased himself back, withdrawing from Orion’s valve, before pulling Orion against his chest in a close embrace. “It’s not fair. But that doesn’t change how we feel. Even if we cannot be bondmates in spark, we can still love one another.”

Orion nodded, though he remained pressed against Megatron’s chest, shaking a little with emotion. “Stay with me tonight? Please? I… don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course.” He leaned down to kiss the top of his helm. “I’ll be here all night.”

Orion nodded. “I’m sorry… for asking for what I can’t have.”

“Don’t be sorry. It isn’t your fault.” He rubbed at Orion’s back. “Rest… things will be better in the morning.”

Orion sighed deeply and curled up against Megatron, relaxing as he drifted into recharge. In contrast, Megatron lay awake for a long time, idly rubbing at Orion’s back and helm. The plan had worked all too well, it seemed – and for the first time it seemed that Orion’s affection was going to be problematic. Not just an annoyance, either, but something truly detrimental.

And perhaps the worst part was that he could no longer deny what was staring him right in the face – the fact that he reciprocated Orion’s feelings. Somehow, ridiculously, he had fallen in love with Orion Pax. He didn’t just love to interface him, but truly felt affectionate toward him, and wanted him to be happy. And for an insane moment he had actually wanted to sparkbond with him, despite the fact that doing so would destroy everything he had tried to accomplish.

Soundwave was going to have a field day with this… if he ever found out. Megatron was going to have to tread carefully from here on out. He had a weakness now, and if Starscream or any other potential traitor found out, they wouldn’t hesitate to use the younger mech against him.

At long last his CPU was just too weary to continue worrying about the situation, and he sank into an exhausted recharge. Orion awakened briefly to scoot in closer, nuzzling against his chest, before falling asleep again.

Megatron never noticed the security camera in the corner – he was too used to his own quarters being camera-free to check. And in another area of the Nemesis, Dreadwing was taking his shift at the monitors… and making a realization of his own.

***

Megatron entered the command center to find four mechs waiting for him – five if one counted the silly Insecticon that had taken to following Starscream everywhere like a turbo-puppy. He dismissed that mech immediately, figuring he was harmless. Knockout, too, he dismissed – the mech looked as if whatever was going on here merely bored him. More worrying was the accusing expression on Dreadwing’s face, and the gloating smile on Starscream’s.

But what truly disturbed him was Soundwave. The mech was stoic as ever… but he held a disc in his hands. And Megatron felt he had a good idea just what that disc contained.

“So our esteemed leader has a soft spot after all,” Starscream chuckled, steepling his clawed hands before him. “A touching relationship between the almighty Commander of the Decepticons and a lowly data clerk. The greatest romantic poets of Iacon couldn’t have painted a prettier picture.”

A surge of fear washed over Megatron at those words, but he managed to keep it from reaching his face. He snarled at the Seeker, baring his fangs. “Not even twenty-four hours and you resume your grasping ways, Starscream. You certainly haven’t changed an iota.”

Normally Starscream would have backed away at the rage on Megatron’s faceplate, but he only broadened his smile. “Come now, can’t a mech be concerned for the state of the leadership? Or worry that our leader softening up toward an Autobot could be detrimental to our cause?”

“To be more direct,” Dreadwing cut in, glaring at Starscream, “it is our concern that your relationship with Orion Pax makes you unfit for command.”

This time Megatron’s jaw dropped in shock. But he recovered quickly and glowered at the blue warrior. “So you would turn on me as well, Dreadwing? I expected better of you.” He whirled to regard Soundwave and Knockout. “And of the two of you.”

Knockout raised his hands. “Don’t look at me, sir! I’m just along for the ride. It’s none of my concern who you share a berth with.”

Soundwave didn’t even flinch, only pulsed a message to everyone in the room. WARNED OF THIS. DANGER OF RECIPROCATION. ORION’S INFLUENCE ON DECEPTICONS IN GENERAL, MEGATRON SPECIFICALLY, DANGEROUS.

“About as dangerous as an electro-kitten against a cyber-dragon,” Megatron snapped. “I am as fit for command as I’ve ever been.”

Dreadwing arched an optic ridge. “Orion has been manipulating you, Megatron. Maybe not consciously, but he has a direct influence over you. The rescue of Starscream was his idea, as was the personalization of the Vehicons and Insecticons. That sort of influence is dangerous… and if our commander can be so easily manipulated by a simple data clerk, then perhaps it is indeed time for a stronger leader to take his place.”

Starscream grinned wickedly. “The question, of course, would be who…”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Dreadwing snapped. “I’d sooner turn Autobot than accept YOU as our commander.”

“Hey!”

“Oh for the love of the Firstforged,” Knockout groaned. “Stop bickering over who’s going to replace Megatron before you’ve even ousted him! Whose business is it who he frags?”

IF “WHO HE FRAGS” HAS UNDUE INFLUENCE OVER HIS DECISIONS, EVERYONE’S BUSINESS, Soundwave “replied.” His gaze moved to Megatron, and despite his face being invisible beneath the mask, he could feel exactly what Soundwave was demanding with that look – whether or not he truly loved Orion.

For the first time in ages, Megatron realized, there was a true threat to his position. For the first time there was a real danger that those who had been his closest and most loyal allies would turn on him. He couldn’t allow this to happen. He had fought too hard, lost too much, to let himself lose command over the Decepticons. He had to allay their suspicions, and do it now.

Thankfully, the words came to him as soon as he opened his mouth to retort… though not before a laugh escaped his vocalizer.

“You honestly think I LOVE that mech?” he chuckled. “Come now… I haven’t gotten that desperate yet. Orion is useful to our cause, and if keeping him on our side and in our archives means a little deception and taking him to bed a few times, then so be it. It’s a small and even pleasant price to pay in exchange for the locations of the relics.”

Dreadwing nodded, and Megatron swore the blue Seeker looked relieved at his words. “Then you do not love Orion?”

“He’s a weak, whiny, pacifistic, gullible fool,” Megatron replied disdainfully. “And once the archives have been fully decoded I intend to dispose of him. Until then, I have the situation well in hand. And the lot of you will do well to remember that.”

Starscream glowered at Megatron, but ultimately nodded. “Of course, Lord Megatron… forgive us for making assumptions.” He gave an over-the-top bow, then clicked his glossa at the Insecticon as an order to follow him out.

“Thank you for allaying our suspicions, my Lord,” Dreadwing added, and a rare smile crossed his faceplate. “How much longer will Orion be aboard the Nemesis?”

“He’s about halfway through the archives,” Megatron replied, “but I can convince him to speed up his work. He won’t be a thorn in our sides for much longer.”

Dreadwing nodded, and gave a more respectful bow than Starscream had offered. Then he turned back to the console.

“Well, now that Starscream’s wannabe coup is over with,” Knockout noted, “I have work to do. There’s still a few Vehicons to piece together after yesterday’s battle.”

“More likely they still have scratches in their plating you want to buff out,” Dreadwing remarked.

“Not much difference,” Knockout replied, and strutted out.

Soundwave gave Megatron a long, hard look, as if sensing he wasn’t being truthful. But in the end, the spy simply nodded as well, and turned to go back to work.

Megatron gave an inward sigh of relief before turning to go. Thank Primus subterfuge had always come easily to him – it had narrowly averted disaster. He’d think about what to tell them when Orion completed his work in the archives later… for now, it was enough that their suspicions had been laid to rest for the moment.

He had just walked out, the doors shutting behind him, when something crunched under his foot. He scowled and raised his foot to find a datapad on the floor, its screen webbed with cracks. It looked to be one of the same ones Orion carried around with him…

His spark seized in panic. Orion had been here… and had overheard at least part of the conversation. The question was, how much?


	10. Chapter 10

Orion awakened the next morning with a splitting CPU-ache and a sudden urge to empty his fuel tanks. He spent a few minutes just lying there, struggling not to purge. It took some effort, especially with the pain in his head, but eventually he was able to get his tanks settled enough that he felt comfortable sitting up and getting out of the berth.

For a moment he could only wonder why his systems felt so out of whack. Then the memory of last night’s interfacing session – and Megatron’s rejection – returned, and his spark began to ache in tandem with his processor. He had offered up his very spark, all he was and would ever be, to his old friend, and Megatron had turned him down. He had no idea how it felt to be wounded in battle, but somehow he felt that this pain was just as bad as being shot or stabbed on the battlefield.

Idly he ran his hand over the depression in the foam covering his berth, still indented from where Megatron had slept by his side last night. He understood why Megatron couldn’t bond with him, and he was willing to accept it if it was for the benefit of the Decepticons and Cybertron. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. And it wasn’t going to make today any easier – having to look at the mech he loved, and knowing he could never truly have him.

 _Maybe it’s a miracle I don’t feel worse,_ he thought as he went into the wash rack to freshen up for the day. _Now I know why they call it “breaking your spark.”_ It certainly felt as if his spark had been cracked, and he wondered if it could even be healed.

Drying himself with a cloth, he stepped back into his quarters and reached out for the datapad on his desk… and frowned. It wasn’t where he’d left it last night. Where could it have gone…

A soft chirp answered his question, and he looked down to see an Insecticon sparkling at his feet. Bob looked up at him with a bright yellow visor, his entire hindquarters wriggling back and forth as if he were an excited turbohound puppy, Orion’s datapad clutched in his teeth.

Despite his sadness, Orion couldn’t help a chuckle. “Hello, little one. How’d you get in my room?”

Bob glanced up at the ceiling, where a ventilation grid lay open, doubtless pried aside by tiny but strong claws. Then he chirped again, sounding a bit more demanding this time.

“I can’t play,” Orion told him. “I have work to do.” He opened the door to his room. “You can sit with me while I work if you’d like…”

Bob was evidently having none of that. With a mischievous chitter he scurried off down the hall, away from Orion’s workspace and still clutching the datapad in his jaws.

“Hey!” Orion hurried after the baby Insecticon, wondering how something so small could move so fast. “Bob, get back here! I need that!” He tried to sound stern, but he kept laughing as he spoke. Despite the events of last night, and despite the fact that he had some important data on that pad, he couldn’t be too upset with the little mech. He was only a sparkling, after all…

He finally caught up to Bob just outside the command center, scooping him up in his hands. Bob squirmed and growled softly, trying to get back to the floor, but Orion held him fast and gently pried the datapad from his mouth.

“Got you,” he murmured. “Now let’s go. Your caretakers will be worried about you…”

A sudden bout of laughter echoed from the command center, making Orion pause. That sounded like Megatron. What could have him so happy at the moment, he wondered. Had he made a discovery that could help the Decepticons win the war? Had he just received news that more Decepticons had made their way to Earth and were ready to join their cause? Or was he simply amused by something Knockout or Starscream had done just now?

Intrigued, he stepped closer to the door, careful to keep away from the door frame and out of sight. Part of his processor told him he shouldn’t be eavesdropping like this, but curiosity got the better of him.

Megatron’s voice rang out now, harsh yet strangely amused at the same time.

“You honestly think I LOVE that mech? Come now… I haven’t gotten that desperate yet.”

Orion felt his internals lurch. Megatron wasn’t talking about him, was he? He couldn’t be… just last night he had confessed his love to him… surely he couldn’t be talking about…

“Orion is useful to our cause, and if keeping him on our side and in our archives means a little deception and taking him to bed a few times, then so be it. It’s a small and even pleasant price to pay in exchange for the locations of the relics.”

Orion suddenly felt weak-legged, and only leaning against the wall kept him from collapsing to the floor. The datapad he’d been holding clattered to the floor, and Bob stayed in his arms only because he latched on with his claws before he could fall. Megatron might as well have come out into the hallway and punched him in the abdominal plates. It had all been an act? Everything he had told him over the past months had been a lie? Well, perhaps not everything… but his declarations of love and fondness had seemed so sincere, and now…

“Then you do not love Orion?” he heard Dreadwing ask.

“He’s a weak, whiny, pacifistic, gullible fool,” came the reply. “And once the archives have been fully decoded I intend to dispose of him. Until then, I have the situation well in hand. And the lot of you will do well to remember that.”

If either Megatron or Dreadwing said anything after that, Orion never heard it. Before he quite realized what he was doing, he’d turned and bolted away from the command center. His vision blurred and a strange roaring sound filled his audials, as if his very senses were trying to reject what had just happened. His spark stabbed with pain and his tanks threatened to empty themselves even as he ran, but he didn’t slow his pace until he’d reached his quarters.

He’d barely shut the door behind him when his systems got the better of him, and he doubled over and purged all over the floor of his quarters. For the longest time he crouched there, hunched over and shaking as he tried to regain control of himself. His CPU and spark pounded with pain, and his optics blurred with tears from both his sudden bout of sickness and the horror of what he’d just learned. This had to be a nightmare… it had to be… Primus, let it be a nightmare…

Bob gave a whine of discomfort, and Orion realized he was gripping the sparkling tightly. He immediately relaxed his grip and stood again, as wobbly on his feet as a child learning to walk. Stumbling toward his berth, he let himself collapse on it, still holding Bob to his chest as if he were a plush toy, trying to draw some comfort from him.

 _Why did he lie to me?_ he thought, his CPU awhirl with confusion at this whole mess. _He was my friend… I would have helped him even if he hadn’t claimed he had feelings for me. Why did he do this to me?_ Had the war truly made his friend so cold at spark, that he would gain amusement from playing with another mech’s emotions? The Megatronus he had known had been somewhat gruff and quick-tempered, but despite his gladiator past he had still been kind. What had changed?

And what had Megatron meant by “dispose of?” Surely he couldn’t mean… that. He wasn’t so cruel as to kill a mech who was no longer useful, was he?

Someone rapped at the door, and Orion cringed and curled around Bob instinctively. Had Megatron seen him flee? At the moment, given what he’d just learned, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see Megatron right now… or ever again…

“Orion, it’s me, Mike. Open up, will ya?”

The sound of the Vehicon’s voice made him relax a touch, and he got up and slowly made his way to the door, opening it. Mike took one look at Orion and at the mess on the floor and backpedaled a step, visor flaring in shock.

“Primus on a stick, are you okay? You look awful! And dude, your floor…”

“I… got sick,” Orion muttered, rather pathetically stating the obvious. “Mike… I just… overheard the most awful thing…”

Over the past few months Orion had learned to read the body language of the masked soldiers quite well, and despite his mouth and optics being hidden Mike managed a look of understanding… and of apprehension. “Maybe we should go to one of the break rooms for this.”

Orion just nodded dumbly, and let Mike lead the way. At the moment he was perfectly okay with someone else taking charge. He felt numb with what he’d learned, and wasn’t sure he could decide anything for himself right now.

The break room was packed when Orion got there – and not just with Vehicons. Several Insecticons stood among the soldiers, Kickback and Hardshell among them, and Breakdown took the data clerk’s arm and guided him to a seat the moment he stepped into the room. He didn’t resist the gesture, nor did he turn away the cube of energon that Greg offered him, despite the fact that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep it down if he did drink it.

“What happened?” asked Paul, resting a hand on Orion’s arm. “You look like your best friend died.”

Paul’s remark wasn’t too far off from the truth, and it opened the floodgate. Everything he’d overheard at the command center spilled out of his vocalizer, interrupted by sobs as he struggled to keep his emotions under control. He even confessed his desire to bond with Megatron last night – and as he spoke about it he realized that Megatron’s reasons for not wanting to bond were now cruelly clear. Of course he hadn’t wanted a bond – not because his responsibility as a leader took precedence, but because he hadn’t truly loved Orion. He’d no sooner bond with the data clerk than he’d bond with an Autobot.

To his surprise, it was Breakdown who responded, placing his broad hands on Orion’s shoulders and rubbing comfortingly. “Aw, kid… I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this.”

“W-why?” he moaned, setting Bob in his lap and scrubbing at his face with his hands. “Why did he do this? How could Megatron be so cruel?”

Silence. The Vehicons looked at one another nervously, as if they knew the answer but none wanted to be the first to give it. It was Hardshell who spoke up in their stead.

“He’s been this cruel since my activation,” Hardshell growled, his voice gruff but not without some sympathy. “He is hard on his troops, not caring how many of us are offlined in the line of battle, punishing us in the most brutal ways for failures or breaches of the rules. He put on a good act for you, and if I hadn’t known otherwise I might have believed for myself that he had changed and become noble and kindhearted. But a cyberdragon can’t change his scales… and we all knew it would only be a matter of time before he showed his true colors to you.”

Orion stared at the Insecticon leader in disbelief. It had all been an act? Not just his love for Orion, but his entire nature? His friend, the mech he had nearly given his very spark to, was no better than the medic-turned-warlord they fought against?

“We would have said something sooner,” Elvis said quietly, sounding guilty. “But… but Megatron threatened to deactivate anyone who let anything slip.”

Of course. It all made horrible sense now. He should have seen the signs earlier – Megatron’s harshness toward the Vehicons, his treatment of the Insecticons as stupid animals, his anger toward Starscream and his reluctance to rescue him, the Decepticons’ skittishness and reluctance to confront him on any matter. No good, noble leader would treat his soldiers like drones, or inspire such fear in his troops. 

It practically shattered his spark to admit it, but he had fallen in love with an illusion. And Megatron had let it happen, knowing full well that Orion had lost his spark to him and not caring. That knowledge was almost more than Orion could bear.

“What… do I do now?” His voice was little more than a whisper in his own audials. “If I stay… he’ll… he’ll kill me…”

“Aw, c’mon, he won’t kill you!” Mike insisted. “He’s not a nice leader, but if you just do your job and behave yourself…”

“Dude, he flat-out said he was going to ‘dispose of’ Orion when he was done with the archives!” Paul cut in. “And by ‘dispose of’ he doesn’t mean ‘pack him off with a severance package!’ That’s if he doesn’t off him for overhearing something he wasn’t supposed to.”

Orion shuddered, feeling like he wanted to be sick again. Bob whimpered and huddled closer to his abdominal plate, as if trying to impart a little comfort of his own.

“If I were you,” Breakdown cut in, squeezing his shoulders slightly, “I would get the frag off this ship. Right now, before Megatron knows you heard anything suspicious.”

“But… but where do I go? Is there anywhere safe?”

“Hmmm… that’s the trick. I guess you could seek sanctuary with the Autobots. They’d take you in.”

Orion just stared up at Breakdown in disbelief. The Autobots? The very mechs who had ruined Cybertron? They would destroy him!

“Guess that’s not gonna work,” Breakdown noted, seeing Orion’s reaction to that suggestion. “Then your best bet is to lay low, go into hiding. Spend as much time in your alt mode as you can and try not to draw attention from the humans. It’ll be hard, but at least you’ll be somewhat safe, especially since MECH isn’t around anymore to give us grief.”

“We’ll send you with some energon,” Jose offered. “And tell you where some of the old mines are so you can scavenge what you can. I’m sorry there’s not more we can do for you.”

Orion drew in a shaky intake of air, then nodded. “Th-thank you… you’ve done more than enough for me already.” He managed a faint smile. “I… won’t get you in trouble, will I? You’re all taking a risk here…”

“Orrrrrion our friend,” Kickback chirred. “Help ussssss. We help back.” He stepped forward and affectionately butted his head against Orion. “Rrrrrremember ussssss.”

“How could I forget you?” Orion reached up and patted the Insecticon, lightly scratching the base of his horns. Then he scooped Bob up and made to hand him over, but the sparkling clung to his hands, not wanting to let go.

Kickback exchanged a few clicks and whistles with Bob, then nuzzled him briefly before looking back up at Orion. “Keeeeeeeep him.”

“But he’s not my charge…”

“You have been good with him,” Hardshell insisted. “He likes you. Take him with you when you go. At least one of our number should be able to grow up away from the war, and be given the opportunity to live a life beyond fighting and death.” The Insecticon leader reached out to touch the sparkling’s helm, then drew back. “Take good care of him.”

“I… I will do my best.” He held Bob close to his chest and stood. “I’ll miss all of you.”

“We’re gonna miss you too.” Breakdown chuckled and patted his shoulders. “Was nice having you aboard this ship. Someone who made things a little better for us all.” He held out a hand, helping Orion to his feet. “Let’s get you to the ground bridge. I’ll gate you out.”

“Thank you. Breakdown… tell Knockout goodbye for me? He was kind to me.”

Breakdown smirked a little. “Knockout’s got his own weird ways of being nice… but I’ll let him know. He’s gonna be ticked that he didn’t get a chance to say goodbye, but I’m sure he’ll understand this was an emergency.” And he led the younger mech out, pulling him quickly down the halls of the Nemesis.

Orion still felt rather dazed as Breakdown pulled him into the groundbridge room and headed for the controls, quickly plugging in a set of coordinates. Part of him could hardly believe this was happening, that he was about to leave the Nemesis forever and go into hiding on an alien planet. And another part of him wanted to run out of this room and go to Megatron, to confront him with what he knew and beg him to say it wasn’t true. Some logical part of him insisted that was suicide, and that his best chance for staying alive was to never see Megatron again.

The rest of him just ached, hurt and grieving still at what he had learned. If his spark had felt cracked before, now it felt practically split apart. He knew he would never love another mech… and that despite everything, part of him still loved the Decepticon leader. Or at least loved the façade he had worn, even if the real Megatron was a different mech altogether.

“All right, I think we’re ready.” Breakdown touched a final control, and a glowing vortex opened up before them. “You ready to go?”

“I… I think so.” Orion looked at Breakdown worriedly. “Will you get in trouble for this?”

Breakdown shrugged. “Probably. But I’m tough, I can hold up to some punishment. I’m more worried about you, frankly.” He looked down at Bob and chuckled softly. “I got a feeling the two of you’ll be okay, though.”

“Wait!”

Both mechs turned to see Steve pelting into the room, carrying a pack in his arms. He reached up and offered it to Orion, and the taller mech took it and slung it over one shoulder.

“We put a few cubes in there,” Steve told him. “And some datapads in case you get bored. I tried to get a good mix of interesting things. And a toy for Bob.”

“Th-thank you,” Orion murmured, touched by the Vehicon’s gesture. “For everything. Take care of Starscream, all right?”

“Oh, I will.” Steve nodded, beaming through the mask. “You watch your back, Orion. We’ll miss you.”

Orion smiled even as he fought not to cry. There was so much more he wanted to say to these mechs, and somehow a simple goodbye just didn’t seem like enough. But he knew if he stayed any longer, he would never want to leave, and the longer he stayed the greater their chances of being caught.

Finally he turned to the ground bridge, and took a step forward.

“Orion!”

Fear jolted through every circuit in his body, and despite himself he whirled around to face the speaker. Breakdown and Steve, too, turned toward the doorway… a doorway now filled with Megatron’s silvery bulk. The Decepticon leader looked stunned, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Steve was the first to recover from the shock, and he pushed frantically at Orion. “Run! Just run! Now!”

That shook Megatron out of his daze, and he stepped into the room, one clawed hand outstretched as if to snatch Orion back from the mouth of the ground bridge.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, a note of desperation, almost fear, in his voice. “Orion!”

Orion finally forced his legs to move, and he turned and bolted into the open gate. Barely half a second passed before it hissed closed behind him, cutting him off from the Nemesis for good.

***

When the monitor flickered with an alert of an active spark reading on the planet, Ratchet could barely bring himself to care enough to check. His exhaustion from yesterday’s battle had yet to abate, though given that he’d not only had to plan the attack and lead the charge, but repair everyone in the aftermath, it was probably a wonder that he wasn’t more tired. And despite all his efforts mental and emotional exhaustion were also taking their toll – morale was at an all-time low among the Autobots, and tempers were so short that fights were breaking out among them on an almost hourly basis. 

Slag, it had gotten so bad that Wheeljack was talking about abandoning them entirely and striking off on his own. The only reason he hadn’t yet was because he was trying to talk Bulkhead into going with him, and Ratchet feared that the Wrecker might actually succeed in getting his buddy to desert their cause and take off for good.

_Has Optimus’ absence really made thing so bad? Are we really this unable to function without him? Or do I just fail as a leader? Certainly if Optimus were still here, things wouldn’t be this bad, right?_

Finally, his innate sense of duty kicked in, and he glanced up at the monitor. An unidentified spark, somewhere in upstate New York… strange, that wasn’t too far from the site of the last battle, was it?

A surge of excitement flooded his spark and processor, and he forced himself to not burst out laughing in joy. He shouldn’t get his hopes up – it could very well just be some wandering Decepticon scout, or a neutral seeking asylum on this planet. Still… the fact that a Cybertronian was wandering about so soon after the last battle couldn’t be a coincidence. Perhaps Optimus had been looking out a window during the battle, and seeing the Autobots had jogged his memory. Or perhaps someone had said something they shouldn’t have in the aftermath of the battle, and he’d caught on to what was going on.

At any rate, this bore investigating. And perhaps it would be the morale boost they all needed.

He hurried out to the main area of the base… and suppressed the urge to facepalm. Yet another argument had sprung up among the Autobots – and from the look of things it appeared to be Arcee and Bumblebee against Bulkhead and Wheeljack. Smokescreen stood back from the bickering, giving Ratchet a look that plainly said “I’ve got nothing to do with this.” Fowler stood on a catwalk and was shouting at both parties involved, though the Autobots’ voices were drowning him out and making it impossible to tell whose side he was on.

Ratchet decided to bring the argument to a close in the most effective way he knew: “SHUT UP!”

That quieted everyone down. Fowler staggered a bit, hands over his ears, and belatedly Ratchet wished he’d thought to alter the volume to accommodate for the human’s sensory organs. 

“Ratchet, Wheeljack and Bulkhead want to split off from us,” Arcee said accusingly. “Tell them they can’t go. Everyone’s needed here!”

For a moment Arcee reminded the medic of a young sparkling tattling on an older sibling, and he wanted to call her to task for it. But at the moment, this was more important.

“No one’s going anywhere,” he said sternly. “And I’ll tell you why – because there’s a mech wandering around upstate New York and I suspect it might be Optimus.”

That got everyone talking again, though this time in startled excitement rather than anger. Bumblebee gave a joyous squeal and practically leaped in the air, and Smokescreen whooped and pumped his fist eagerly.

“You’re sure about that?” Fowler demanded, frowning. “This soon after your last battle, it could be a trap.”

“It very well could,” Ratchet admitted. “But if it means we get our Prime back, I’d say it’s worth the risk.” He quickly looked over every Autobot, then made his decision. “Bumblebee, you stay at the base. Someone will need to operate the ground bridge and alert us if the base comes under attack while we’re gone. Fowler, stay with him and help keep us updated.”

Bumblebee’s doorwings wilted slightly, but he beeped affirmatively.

“Everyone else, let’s move out.” He drew in a deep intake before continuing. “And keep this in mind – Optimus lost his memory in the battle against Unicron. I don’t know how much of it, if any, he’s managed to regain, but we have to be prepared for the worst. It’s possible he remembers us, but it’s also possible that Megatron’s been feeding him his own propaganda and that he’ll not only NOT remember us, but see us as enemies. Don’t hurt him… but also be prepared for a possible fight.”

The Autobots exchanged nervous looks at this, but no one spoke up against the order.

“I’ll open a bridge to the approximate area,” he said in conclusion. “Then everyone be ready to roll out. And let’s hope to Primus that this ends well.”

***

Orion had been driving for several hours, following a ribbon of dark gray road through rolling farmland, when Bob’s fussing and pawing at his seats finally became too urgent to ignore. The poor Insecticon wasn’t used to being cooped up in such a small space, and certainly not for hours at a time. He felt sorry for the little mech, but at the same time he was still wary of assuming his robot form anywhere close to human habitation. Breakdown had warned him to avoid attention from the natives, and so he could only assume that he’d be in danger if they found him.

Finally he found a field of some sort of tall, green crop with yellow tassels in place of flowers, and he slowed to a stop beside it. He did a quick scan of the area, then, once he was sure no humans or vehicles were around to see, he transformed and ducked into the vegetation. He was tall enough that he practically had to wriggle on his belly through it, but he wasn’t about to take any chances.

Once he was sure he was in deep enough to not be seen from the road, he let Bob wriggle out of his arms. The sparkling sniffed at the base of one of the tall plants, then crouched low and emptied his oil tank at its base, giving a sigh of relief. Well, at least he’d taken care of that here and not in Orion’s interior.

Orion pulled his bag out of subspace and removed a small cube of energy, taking a few swallows for himself before offering the rest to Bob. “Not too much,” he warned. “We have to make this last.”

Bob squeaked happily and dove for the cube, practically sticking his whole face inside.

Orion gave a deep sigh and rested his head in his folded arms. So this was what it was like to be a fugitive – on the run, having to keep hidden and avoid contact with anyone dangerous. And in his case “anyone dangerous” could pretty much be shortened to “anyone.” Humans were a threat if Breakdown was to be believed, Decepticons would capture him and turn him in to Megatron, and Autobots… the thought of encountering an Autobot was enough to make his fluids congeal in his tubing. If he ran into an Autobot, he was probably as good as dead.

 _Or are you?_ a traitorous little voice in the back of his CPU nagged. _Megatron lied to you about everything else – why not lie about the Autobots on top of it all? For all you know, the Autobots could very well be the good guys…_

But there were so many good mechs among the Decepticons as well. Megatron might have been deceitful and cruel, but the Vehicons, Knockout, Breakdown, and Hardshell had been nothing but kind to him. If, despite the harshness of their commander, good mechs could exist among the Decepticons, then why not among the Autobots? Even if Ratchet proved to be the cold, sadistic Doctor of Doom Megatron made him out to be, perhaps some of his underlings could still be decent mechs…

Bob squeaked again, and Orion lifted his head to see the sparkling step away from the cube and flop onto his back, sated and content. A ring of energon coated his lips and most of his face, making him look like a neon-circus clown, and despite everything Orion couldn’t suppress a chuckle at the sight. At least Bob seemed to be happy despite their circumstances.

In a way, he was thankful Hardshell had sent Bob along with him. Having an Insecticon sparkling in tow might make his journey a bit more difficult, but at least caring for him and watching his antics proved to be a distraction from his painful thoughts. That was more of a blessing than anything else at the moment.

He packed away the rest of the energon for later, then carefully pulled Bob close and wiped his face. Bob batted playfully at his hand, then gave a yawn and curled up against him, swiftly fading into recharge. Orion cuddled the little one close, focusing on the warmth of his chassis and the even venting of his fans, letting that push out all thoughts of Megatron and of his new status as a wanderer, a lone agent on an alien world…

It didn’t entirely work – his spark still ached and his tanks still felt heavy and unsettled. But it helped.

He was about to take his cue from Bob and curl up for recharge himself when he heard the roar of engines on the nearby road. Fear prickled in his tanks, and he curled up as small as he could. Let them pass on by, don’t let them find him… if it turned out to be humans he knew he could easily outrun them, but if it was Decepticons he wasn’t so sure…

The grinding of transformation gears sent a new wave of panic through him. It WAS Decepticons! Scooping Bob up in his arms, he gathered his feet under him but kept low as possible. He had to be ready to run if it came to that, but maybe if they didn’t see him they’d pass on by…

Footsteps approached, and he cursed himself. He’d left an all-too-obvious trail through the plants, and they were only moments from finding him. Foregoing all attempts at stealth, he stood and prepared to bolt.

“Optimus!”

That wasn’t his name, but he was so startled at the cry he turned anyhow. A group of mechs were rapidly approaching… but they were no Decepticons he was familiar with. These had blue optics and wore scarlet crests on their armor, and their leader wasn’t Megatron, but a bulky white mech with scarlet detailing and a weary but commanding expression on his faceplate.

Panic seized him in that moment. The Autobots had found him… and Ratchet was with them. He was doomed.


	11. Chapter 11

If it hadn’t been for the sudden gap in the cornstalks by the side of the road, Ratchet might have overshot Optimus’ location completely. As it was, he slammed on his brakes so hard that he left a swath of skid marks on the asphalt behind him. Bulkhead, right on his tail, had to swerve to avoid ramming into him, and high screeches echoed through the night as Arcee and Smokescreen, too, slid to a halt just a matter of inches behind the two larger mechs.

Ratchet transformed quickly and hurried to the edge of the cornfield, his optics fixed on the path someone had smashed through the stalks. Had Optimus driven through the field in an effort to hide? No, there weren’t any tire marks. The earth was gouged up along the makeshift trail, though, as if a mech’s knee and elbow guards had torn up the ground.

 _Whatever he’s doing away from the Nemesis, he’s so terrified he’s willing to crawl along the ground to stay hidden,_ the medic realized. _Poor Optimus… this is going to be harder than I thought._

“Is he here?” Smokescreen demanded, running to Ratchet’s side. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go in and get him!”

“Dial it down, rookie,” Ratchet ordered. “We don’t want to spook him. We have to take this slow.”

“We don’t have time to take it slow,” Arcee snapped. “The Decepticons could come by at any moment. We have to get him back to base now!”

Ratchet sighed and reached up to rub his brow. None of these mechs would have talked back to Optimus, or tried to counter his orders. Why didn’t he get the same sort of respect?

“I’m with the Doc on this,” Bulkhead cut in. “If Optimus really doesn’t remember us, just rushing in isn’t gonna do any good. Scrap, even I’d panic if I had a bunch of strangers chasing me down for no reason.”

“So strangers freak you out?” Wheeljack asked, smirking a bit at his fellow Wrecker. “That’s worth knowing.”

“Oh, shut up, Jackie,” Bulkhead snapped, though he sounded more amused than irritated. “You know what I mean.”

“Right,” Wheeljack replied, nodding. “Let’s take it like we’re dealing with a hostage situation – nice and slow. We rush this, things get messy.”

“At least someone understands,” Ratchet noted, rolling his optics. “Even if it’s the Wreckers in our group. Now let’s move…”

The growling of a transformation cog cut him off, and the Autobots turned to see a mech rising up over the cornstalks, clutching something to his chest. Even in the dim light Ratchet recognized that form – scarlet and blue, with the broad shoulders and thickly armored limbs that marked most truckformers and a crownlike helm. Decepticon symbols gleamed wickedly on his shoulders, almost blasphemously out of place on the Autobot leader standing before them, and his optics blazed with fear, entirely unlike the grim but commanding figure he had known for so long. Nevertheless, Ratchet’s spark leaped upon seeing Optimus again. 

_All right, take this slow,_ he urged himself, easing himself forward a step. _He’s going to be jittery… and who knows what Megatron’s told him about you. Just stay calm and don’t do anything stupid…_

Predictably, Arcee chose that moment to do something stupid. “Optimus!”

The mech whirled, though whether because he’d recognized the name as his own or Arcee’s shout had just startled him Ratchet wasn’t sure. His optics flared all the brighter upon seeing their group, and a look of utter panic crossed his faceplate.

“N-no…” he croaked, and turned and ran.

“Optimus!” Arcee called out again, and promptly transformed and tore off after him.

“Arcee, stop!” Ratchet ordered. “Don’t chase him!”

Arcee either didn’t hear him, or didn’t care. Optimus, seeming to sense he was still being followed, folded down to his vehicle mode, tearing through the cornstalks with the motorcycle hot on his mudflaps. Ratchet growled in frustration and assumed his ambulance mode, tailing Arcee as fast as his engine would allow. This was NOT how this was supposed to go, Primus fraggit!

The cornfield came to an abrupt end, and he burst from the greenery just in time to see Optimus tear into an open barn. Arcee sped in after him… and to his horror, a shot rang out through the night.

“Optimus!” Ratchet tore into the barn and transformed, pulling out his own weapon and ready to fire to stun if needed.

Optimus stood in the back of the barn, arm raised, his arm blaster still smoking. Arcee stood her ground, unharmed, and a char-ringed hole in the wall marked where the terrified mech had taken a shot and missed by several feet. The Autobot leader shook where he stood, looking horrified at having just fired on another mechanism, while in contrast Arcee wore an expression of frustration.

“Optimus, put that down!” she snapped. “You’re going to hurt someone!”

“Get away!” Optimus’ voice, usually calm and authoritative, was shrill with fright. “Please, just leave me alone!”

“Stop being ridiculous, Optimus,” Arcee insisted, stepping closer. “It’s me, Arcee. You recognize me, don’t you?”

“Stop calling me that!” he cried, backing away from her until his back hit the wall. “Please, I’m just a data clerk, I just want to be left alone!”

“Stop playing stupid, Optimus-“

Ratchet clapped a hand on the femme’s shoulder, pulling her back. “Arcee, that’s enough!”

She glared up at him. “He has to remember!”

“I told you to be gentle with him!” Ratchet snapped. “I warned you we had to take this carefully and you completely disregarded my orders! Now stand back!”

She glared defiantly up at him, but finally stormed out with an exasperated growl. The other Autobots had arrived by that point, and they hung back at the doorway, unsure what to do next.

“Everyone stay back,” Ratchet ordered. “Stay on guard and alert me the instant you see anything suspicious.”

“Yes, sir,” Smokescreen replied, nodding and backing away to take position. The others followed suit.

Ratchet turned back to Optimus, his gladness at seeing his old friend and leader again tempered by worry and apprehension. So it was worse than he’d feared. Optimus – no, it was Orion now – wasn’t just afraid of him, but terrified. What sort of horror stories had Megatron been feeding him? And more importantly, what sort of trauma could he have gone through to leave him this broken? Had the warlord abused him? Ratchet already knew Megatron had been using Orion as a berth partner, but whether Orion had been willing or not was another story altogether.

“Orion,” Ratchet said in as soothing a tone he could manage. “Orion, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Stay back!” Orion pleaded, pressing his back against the wall in an effort to get away. “Please!”

“I’m not coming any closer,” Ratchet assured him, and to prove his point he lowered himself to the floor of the barn, sitting down and putting his gun away. “I’ll give you whatever space you need. I just want you to know I’m here to help you.”

Orion just stared at him, as if not sure whether to believe him. “You… you’re Ratchet.”

Ratchet nodded slowly, unsure whether this was a good sign or not. Did Orion truly recognize him as a friend? Or did he only know of him by whatever reputation Megatron had given him?

“You tried to take over Cybertron,” Orion went on. “The Decepticons call you the Doctor of Doom. How can I trust you?”

He shuttered his optics, pained at the fear in Orion’s voice. To know his own friend saw him as a tyrant was as painful as any physical blow. “Whatever Megatron has told you, Orion, I can assure you it’s greatly exaggerated. I have no desire to rule Cybertron or take it over for myself.” He managed a bit of a smirk. “As for the Doctor of Doom bit…

“We only call him that because he’s threatened to weld our afts to the berth if they don’t stay still while he’s fixing us,” Bulkhead noted

“Oh wow, really?” asked Smokescreen, laughing.

“You two can it,” Ratchet ordered. “You’re not helping.”

But it seemed their attempt at humor actually did help a little – some of the wildness left Orion’s optics, and his gun-arm slowly lowered. “You aren’t going to hurt me?”

“Far from it,” Ratchet assured him. “We want to help you, Orion. You used to be one of us, you know. An Autobot.”

Orion tensed again, and Ratchet winced, realizing that he’d tried the wrong tactic. Time to play damage control…

“I can assure you that whatever Megatron’s told you about myself, my team, or Autobots in general, it’s most likely wrong. The Autobots strive to restore and protect Cybertron and its people, not destroy or conquer it. Please, Orion… you have no reason to fear us. We just want to help you.”

Orion remained tense, but he seemed more confused than terrified now. “I… I want to believe you… but how do I know I can trust you?” A look of despair crossed his faceplate. “I trusted Megatron, and he lied to me… how can I trust anyone now?”

Ratchet wished he knew how to answer that. Orion’s words sent a pang through his spark, and he wondered just what Orion had discovered that had sent him running from Megatron…

Something chirped softly, and a tiny amber visor peeked out from behind Orion’s leg. Ratchet felt himself tense in response, one hand moving to draw one of his blades. An Insecticon! True, this one was far smaller than most, but he’d heard enough about the creatures to know they were dangerous no matter their size. But what was one doing here? Had Megatron sent it to follow Orion, and ensure he didn’t go too far?

The other Autobots responded immediately, and the click and whirr of guns being readied, as well as the hiss of Wheeljack’s swords being drawn, sounded behind Ratchet. Orion’s optics brightened in fear again, but this time, rather than back away, he hunched down, trying to put himself between their line of fire and the little Insecticon.

“Bob, stay back,” Orion urged, reaching down to push the Insecticon behind him.

“Bob?” Wheeljack repeated, incredulous. “That thing’s got a name?”

The little Insecticon – Bob – wriggled free of Orion’s hand and scampered toward Ratchet. The medic gasped and scrambled to his feet, backing away. Primus, was this some kind of attack creature… or worse, was it rigged to explode? Fine way to be offlined, blown up by a bug just when he was so close to getting Optimus back…

“Bob!” Orion called out, and he stepped forward, hands outstretched to scoop the little mech up. “Bob, we don’t know if he’s safe yet!”

Bob ignored him, grabbing Ratchet’s shin guard in his tiny claws and sniffing intensely. Ratchet remained still, not daring to move in case it provoked the thing. Orion, too, remained frozen, seeming torn between his worry for the Insecticon and his fear of Ratchet.

“Get back!” Arcee shouted, and kicked out at the Insecticon. Bob squealed as her foot glanced off his side, and he immediately clung to Ratchet’s leg, shaking in fear and peering up at the medic as if begging him to save him.

“Arcee!” Ratchet barked. “That’s enough!”

“That thing is dangerous!” she protested. “It’ll chew your leg off if you let it!”

“Doesn’t look dangerous,” Bulkhead pointed out. “It’s not acting like an Insecticon either. More like a sparkling.”

A sparkling… that explained a great deal about the little mech. Why Orion had an Insecticon sparkling in his care was a puzzle he’d have to sort out later. For now, it looked like he now had two mechs to reassure and comfort. Though perhaps Bob would be the easier of the two to settle.

Bob squeaked in surprise as Ratchet bent down and picked him up. He squirmed a little, growling as the medic carefully examined him and playfully nipping at his fingers. Once Ratchet had satisfied his curiosity and confirmed to himself that he was dealing not with a subspecies of Insecticon, but a sparkling, Bob settled himself in the medic’s hands and cooed softly.

Orion stared at the little mech, then finally seemed to come to a decision. “He likes you… he trusts you. I… I suppose… you’re not as bad as Megatron says you are.”

Ratchet snorted. “I sure hope not. If Megatron told you I’d be so low as to harm a sparkling-”

“Ratch, we got incoming,” Wheeljack informed him. “We might wanna book it.” Even as the Wrecker spoke the sound of jet engines could be heard… Eradicons.

A shudder went through Orion, and he backed further into a corner of the barn. “Megatron… he’s after me… I think he wants to kill me…”

“Come with us, then,” Smokescreen offered, holding his hand out with a bit of a smile. “We’ll keep you safe, all right? You don’t have to stay forever…”

“Smokescreen,” began Arcee testily, but a glare from Ratchet quieted her.

“…just until Megatron quits looking for you. After that, you can do what you want. But we just want to make sure you’re safe.”

Orion hesitated, then reached out and placed his hand in Smokescreen’s. The silver-and-white carformer squeezed his hand comfortingly, then stepped back, drawing him out of the barn and into the open. Ratchet couldn’t help a sigh of relief. One step closer to getting him back… but they were going to have to hurry from here on out. The Eradicons were getting closer, and they couldn’t afford to be attacked right now.

“Orion, Autobots, transform and move out,” Ratchet ordered, handing Bob back to the red mech. “The sooner we get back to base, the better.”

The others complied, folding down to their vehicle modes and retracing their wild path through the field to get back to the road. Orion transformed as well, but hung back, waiting until Ratchet had changed forms as well.

“R-Ratchet? Thank you…”

“It’s my pleasure,” Ratchet assured him. “Let’s go.” He lightly nudged Orion with his bumper, urging him after the others. “And when we get back, I’d like to give you a brief physical, just to be on the safe side.” When Orion visibly tensed at that, he changed tactics slightly. “I’d also like to give Bob one. He’s a growing sparkling, after all, and we want to be sure both he and his caretaker are healthy.”

“A-all right,” Orion agreed, albeit a little reluctantly. “But I want to be there when Bob’s looked at.”

“We can arrange that,” Ratchet replied. Personally, he was more worried about Orion’s health than the sparkling’s. Who knew what their former leader had undergone at Megatron’s hands. That, and he had to find some way to restore his memory without also damaging his mind beyond repair. He just hoped he could manage that.

***

To say Megatron was upset with Breakdown and Steve for helping Orion escape was an understatement.

“You treacherous fools!” he thundered, optics flashing in rage. “Do you have a death wish? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Steve flung his arms up, as if thinking that would shield him from their Commander’s wrath, and backed away, shivering in fright. Breakdown stood his ground and moved to put himself between Megatron and the Vehicon, though he looked more resigned than defiant. Around them lay the wreckage of the ground-bridge control room – when Orion had vanished through the bridge Megatron had gone berserk, tearing off controls, computer terminals, and anything else he could get his hands on, flinging the components at the two offending mechs. Steve had managed to dodge most of the projectiles, but Breakdown sported several dents in his chest and back.

Finally he ran out of things to destroy, and his rage turned to the guilty mechs themselves. Perhaps beating them senseless and rending them to scrap wouldn’t fix things, but it would at least satisfy his anger.

“You allowed one of most valuable resources to escape!” he roared. “No, not just allowed, aided it! I knew you were morons, but now I see you’re traitors to the cause as well! And I do NOT tolerate traitors in my midst!”

Breakdown drew himself up straighter, standing at attention as if thinking showing his loyalty now would make things better. “Sir, he overheard a conversation that made him think his life was in danger. Perhaps he misinterpreted what he heard, but he seemed to fear for his life, and we did what we thought was necessary for him to protect himself.”

Megatron snarled and fired his cannon, striking the wall just behind the two errant soldiers. Steve shrieked in fear, but Breakdown only flinched.

“Do you know what your stupidity has done?” he snarled. “Orion Pax was our best hope for decoding the archives! This sets us back months! You two have done more damage to the Decepticon cause than even that blasted Starscream!”

Steve finally spoke up with something other than a scream or a whimper. “D-don’t talk about Starscream that way… sir.”

“You dare talk back to me, soldier?” Megatron demanded. “That will prove costly!”

“Leave him out of it… sir,” Breakdown cut in. “If you’re going to punish anyone for this, punish me. I was the one who suggested Orion leave for his own safety. I was the one who opened the ground bridge for him. Steve did nothing other than wish him well on his journey.” He braced himself, shoulders back, functional optic shuttered. “I’ll take whatever punishment you deem fit, sir.”

Megatron raised his cannon-arm, aiming the muzzle of the weapon at Breakdown’s face. He deserved this, he told himself. Breakdown was a traitor, helping Orion escape and not even having the decency to act ashamed about it. And worse, he’d done so without even giving Megatron a chance to explain himself to the data clerk. That alone was worth obliterating the mech, wasn’t it?

 _Knockout will never forgive you for this,_ something told him. _He was angry enough when you failed to rescue him from MECH and the Autobots had to do it…_

 _Knockout needs to learn some respect!_ he argued. _We must make an example of Breakdown – to prove treason will not be tolerated!_

 _He is bonded to Breakdown,_ the voice reasoned. _If losing his bondmate doesn’t destroy him, he’ll turn against you. You’ll lose your medic and only gain an enemy in return._

 _Medics are not irreplaceable,_ he retorted, though that wasn’t exactly the truth. Medics tended to have alarmingly short lifespans during a time of war, especially those working for the Decepticons. The only reason Knockout had survived this long was because he was trained as a warrior as well as a healer… and though Megatron wasn’t about to admit it aloud or even to himself, he knew they couldn’t afford to lose him. Why else would they put up with his ego and eccentricities so much…

With a snarl he lowered his cannon, then raised his fist, ready to strike Breakdown in lieu of shooting him. Maybe he couldn’t kill these mechs, but he could certainly beat a lesson into their CPUs. This would teach both of them – and the rest of his army – to defy him…

Orion’s voice sounded in his CPU at that moment – _your soldiers are the legs your army stands on, and that position demands respect._

His hand wavered. Orion cared about these mechs – not just as comrades-in-arms, but as friends. He had socialized with them, encouraged their individuality, and referred to them by name. And his attitude had infected everyone aboard this ship as well. Even now, Megatron was thinking of Steve by name instead of as another faceless soldier. Somehow, Orion had earned the respect and even loyalty of Megatron’s soldiers, even Breakdown, without ever raising a hand against them.

He lowered his hand, the realization dampening his rage somewhat. He couldn’t do it. Despite what these two had done, richly deserving whatever punishment he saw fit to mete out, he couldn’t resort to his usual method of beating them to within an inch of their lives. Orion would never forgive him if he abused them in any way.

“Get this mess cleaned up,” Megatron snarled. “If the ground bridge isn’t operational within a planetary cycle, I’ll have your heads mounted on my wall.”

Breakdown’s optic opened, and he sagged in relief. “Y-yes sir.”

He didn’t wait around to see if they complied with his order – he stormed out, making his way toward his office. Primus below, he needed a stiff drink after all this.

_MEGATRON-_

Megatron didn’t wait for Soundwave to finish his communiqué. _I want search parties sent out immediately! They’re to track down Orion Pax and bring him back to the Nemesis immediately!_

 _INFORMATION CONCERNING ORION,_ Soundwave countered. _SPOTTED IN TERRITORY KNOWN AS NEW YORK. AUTOBOTS ARE ON SCENE._

His spark clenched in horror. No… he couldn’t lose Orion, not now! _Intercept them! Destroy them all and bring Orion back-_

_NEGATIVE. AUTOBOTS AND ORION HAVE DEPARTED VIA GROUNDBRIDGE. RECALLING PATROL._

Megatron whirled and punched the closest wall with an audial-splitting roar. Orion was gone… and if the Autobots had anything to say about it, they would ensure that he’d never return to the Nemesis. Whether they found a way to restore his memory or simply recruited him to their side, the end result was the same – the Decepticons had lost their archivist and a close ally. And Megatron had lost…

He clenched his fists, struggling to hold back another roar, this one of pain and loss. He’d lost far more than an ally, far more than an old friend. Only now, when Orion was beyond his reach, could he admit that he loved him. And his last act toward the mech he loved had been to hurt and belittle him before the Decepticons… and he would never have a chance to apologize. Regret was an entirely new feeling for him, and it felt as if it would crush his spark under its weight.

 _Orion… I’m sorry. I hurt you to protect myself, and I’m sorry._ His web of deceit had cost him his only chance at a loving partner, and he knew he would never find another.

***

Optimus Prime had always looked most at peace with himself when he’d been offline, Ratchet thought as he drew his tool table closer and set to work. Awake, he had constantly worn a grim, no-nonsense expression, almost never smiling or showing any sign of pleasure or content. Only when he was recharging or shut down for repairs did he look truly serene, the weight of his responsibilities gone for at least a brief interlude. Now was no different – the fear and worry he had worn as Orion Pax had vanished, and if he didn’t look entirely peaceful, at least he was calm now.

Ratchet sighed and moved to connect Orion’s cranial unit to the CPU scanner, which would give him a far more in-depth look at the mech’s CPU activity than a handheld scanner. This was a wild shot in the dark as far as he was concerned – they didn’t even know what had caused Prime’s memory to be erased, so the chances of restoring it were slim at best. If the blank spots in his memory were simply blocked off, perhaps they could find ways to circumvent those blocks… but if his memory banks had been erased, nothing short of a miracle would fix that.

Orion had followed the Autobots through the ground bridge and to the base willingly enough, but had balked when Bumblebee had squealed in delight and rushed forward to hug him. It had taken some time to calm him down and get him to the repair berth, and everyone wanting to hang around and watch during the procedure hadn’t helped in the slightest. Ratchet had to practically chase everyone out of the base to get the peace and quiet he needed to work, and it had taken a good half-hour to calm Orion down enough to consent to an examination.

 _I wonder what sort of horror stories Megatron’s told him to give him this bad an impression of us,_ Ratchet thought darkly. _Poor Optimus… he didn’t deserve this._

Bob chirped softly from his perch at the foot of the berth, watching Ratchet in fascination. At least the examination of the sparkling had gone smoothly, and finally convinced Orion that he would be safe in Ratchet’s care. The biggest concern in Bob’s case would be how to deal with him once he grew to full size. Insecticons were notoriously unpredictable, and just because he was cute and well-behaved now didn’t necessarily mean he would stay that way.

The scanner beeped and spewed out a full readout, and Ratchet found himself grinning in relief. Whatever had happened during the battle with Unicron, it hadn’t erased his memory. A huge chunk of his memory banks, from the time he got the Matrix onward, had been locked down, but the information looked to still be intact. If he could just find a way to remove the blocks…

 _We don’t have time for that,_ he decided upon further inspection, scowling. _Memory blocks are some of the most infernal glitches to fix in a CPU, short of a full-on virus infection. It could take weeks to create a program that can take down the blocks._

There was another option, though just considering it made Ratchet cringe. He could program a workaround into Orion’s systems, giving him full access to his memories as Optimus Prime. In the process, however, he would end up blocking out any memories acquired from the battle of Unicron to the present. His memory of his time on the Nemesis would be locked down and inaccessible. And while that would, in some ways, be a mercy, it would also mean they would never find out what he had endured at Megatron’s hands.

_Would it really benefit us to know that, though? I’m sure it was traumatic for him – a naïve archivist among the most violent mechanisms in the known universe. No… this will be kinder for him. He doesn’t need memories of abuse and deception – he needs his memories as Optimus Prime._

It took over an hour to write the workarounds, but once Ratchet was satisfied with the program he set it to upload into Orion’s CPU. Once it finished loading, it would trigger a reboot of his systems… and if all went well, Orion Pax would awaken once again as Optimus Prime. 

The medic felt the tension drain out of his chassis. Finally, they had their leader back. They had a chance of winning this war once and for all.

While the program uploaded he finished his examination, looking Prime over for injuries. Whatever damages he’d suffered while facing Unicron looked to have been fixed, and there seemed to be no new injuries. His Decepticon symbols would need replaced, but Ratchet could do that once he was sure Prime was in good health.

With some apprehension he opened Prime’s panel, doing a brief but careful check. To his surprise he found no excessive damage there – his seal had been broken and there were obvious signs of recent use, but there were none of the lining tears or damaged nodes typical of an assault victim. So either Orion had been drugged or otherwise offline while Megatron had ravished him… or he had been a willing participant.

He shook his head and closed the panel. Whatever had happened, Megatron had most likely coerced him and lied to him in order to get into his valve. That was pretty much a rape as far as Ratchet was concerned. And at any rate, the most they could do now was try to help Prime heal and forget what had happened.

Finally he touched the scanner to his patient’s chest, checking for any fluctuations in his spark energies. He rather doubted he’d find anything, but better safe than sorry…

_Odd… his spark is giving off more energy than normal. Far more energy – it’s almost as if…_

He almost dropped the scanner in realization. It couldn’t be… it wasn’t possible… 

He almost didn’t want to double-check, but he forced himself for Prime’s sake. He adjusted the settings on the scanner, then touched it to Prime’s chassis once again. This time the readings were unmistakable – Prime’s spark was not the only one that burned in his body. 

“Primus below,” Ratchet murmured, horror flooding his chassis. “He’s… he’s with spark.”


	12. Chapter 12

Optimus Prime brought his optics online, feeling a bewildering sense of disorientation. For a moment his CPU scrambled to place just what had happened to him. Where was he? Why was he flat on his back at the moment? He’d been standing just a moment ago, hadn’t he?

Memory returned with a rush, and his sensory net prickled in alarm. The struggle with Unicron… the alliance with Megatron… had they succeeded? He was alive, yes, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. And if Unicron had managed to knock him offline, then that meant he was vulnerable, both to the dark god himself and to Megatron should the warlord decide to break the truce. Which he was fully expecting him to do should they both survive this mission…

He tried to push himself upright, only for a hand to push him prone again. Instinctively he bucked, trying to push his attacker away.

“It’s all right! Just relax, it’s me! I’m not going to hurt you!”

Optimus focused his optics to find Ratchet looking down at him, his expression taut with worry. Instantly the tension drained out of his body, and he lay back on the berth.

“Ratchet… I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

Ratchet frowned, the concerned look never leaving his faceplate. “You’re online sooner than I expected… how do you feel?” He spoke slowly, as if addressing a sparkling. “Any pain?”

“Should I be in pain?” Optimus asked, arching an optic ridge at the medic. “I’m functioning well. How… how did it go? Did we defeat Unicron?”

Ratchet’s optics flared with a strange combination of emotions – joy, triumph, relief – and he reached out to grasp Optimus’ hand tightly. “You defeated him, sir. Primus below… it’s so good to have you back. We all missed you so much.”

Optimus frowned. “Back? What are you talking about?” Something wasn’t right here. “Something happened while Megatron and I were in the core, I take it. Did Starscream or Airachnid attack the base?”

Ratchet hesitated, as if not sure whether to discuss whatever had happened.

“Ratchet, I want a full report,” he ordered. “What happened?”

The medic sighed deeply. “Optimus… it’s been six months since you and Megatron faced Unicron.”

Optimus stared at the white mech, uncomprehending for a moment. He couldn’t be serious. Ratchet wasn’t given to joking much, but surely he couldn’t be telling the truth right now. It felt as if he had just gone down to the core a few hours ago… how could he have lost half a year of his life?

Dreading what he would find, he checked his internal chronometer. It confirmed what Ratchet had said – half of one of this planet’s orbital cycles had passed since that fateful mission. And yet he had no memory of what had transpired between then and now. It was as if someone had wiped out a section of his life, obliterating everything that had happened in between.

Horror filled his spark, and he wanted to react to it, to cry out or shiver or somehow give voice to the emotions whirling through him. But he forced them back, locking them behind the eternal mask of Prime he was required to wear. He was a leader, with the lives of his soldiers depending on him. He had to remain calm, composed, or he would lose all the trust his men had come to place in him. A Prime didn’t have the luxury of indulging in their own feelings – a lesson that had been drilled into him by the officers who had transformed him from an unsure data clerk to a military leader.

“How did this happen?” he demanded, fighting to keep a tremor out of his voice.

“We’re not sure,” Ratchet confessed. “Somehow, unleashing the energy of the Matrix to defeat Unicron wiped out most of your memory.”

He frowned. “I’m not sure how six months worth of memory equals ‘most.’”

“It’s… a long story, sir.” The medic sighed deeply, and Optimus was suddenly struck by just how tired Ratchet looked and sounded. “You might find elements of it disturbing.”

“As a Prime, I deal with the disturbing on a daily basis,” Prime replied, though something about Ratchet’s words caused his spark to sink a little in his chassis. “Go on.”

Ratchet braced himself, then spoke. “After the battle with Unicron… your memory was wiped out to the point where you were convinced you were still Orion Pax, an archivist and data clerk. And Megatron was able to convince you to accompany him back to the Nemesis.”

His spark clenched at that, and for a moment he thought he would be sick. With a herculean effort he managed to compose himself. “Do… do you know anything of what happened aboard the Nemesis?”

“Very little,” Ratchet replied. “Several efforts were made to rescue you, but somehow you were able to escape on your own. We found you and brought you back here, and were able to restore your memory. But in doing so, we had to eliminate your memory of being aboard the Nemesis. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Optimus was suddenly very glad he was already laying down – his limbs felt weak enough that he was sure he would have collapsed had he been standing. Six months as Megatron’s captive… six months at the mercy of the tyrannical ex-gladiator and his vicious troops… how had he survived? And more importantly, just what had happened to him in that time? He wondered… but then instantly recoiled from the images his CPU concocted in response. Perhaps he didn’t want to know after all.

“We found no evidence of physical abuse,” Ratchet went on. “Nor any sign that you were used as a soldier. I can only assume that Megatron assigned you to tasks befitting an archivist – organizing records, perhaps, or decoding files.” Here he paused, and apprehension filled his optics.

Optimus had a feeling he was better off not knowing what the medic had to say next. But he pressed him anyway. “I need a complete report, Ratchet. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Optimus…” Ratchet’s grip on his hand tightened. “I… I fought Megatron one-on-one once before your escape. He taunted me… saying he wished to keep you around. And he… he spoke of using you as a berthmate.”

His tanks roiled at that, and it took all his willpower to not purge right then and there. A peculiar roaring seemed to fill his cranial unit, darkening his vision and throwing all his systems out of whack. Megatron had raped him, taken advantage of having Optimus weak and helpless to use him as a plaything. He’d heard the stories of how Megatron had assaulted prisoners and weaker Decepticons for his own sick pleasure, but he’d wanted to believe them to be just stories, that some of Megatronus’ decency remained in his spark. To know that the stories had turned out to be true, and in the worst way possible, left him feeling sick and horrified.

“Optimus, it’s okay to react,” Ratchet told him softly, again using that tone of voice one normally reserved for a scared sparkling or a trauma victim. “You’ve been through something… terrible… and it’s completely understandable if you-“

“I’m fine, Ratchet,” Optimus said shortly, and forced himself to tear his thoughts away from their dark path. “I want a status report on my condition, and an estimated time of when I will be fit for duty again.”

“Optimus, you can’t just shunt this aside and pretend it didn’t happen,” Ratchet insisted. “You’ve been through something traumatic, and you need time to recover-“

 _“I’m fine.”_ Optimus put as much emphasis on that line as he could without shouting, glaring at Ratchet with an anger he didn’t feel. As much as he wanted to retreat from the world right now, to just curl up in a ball and hide from this entire situation, he couldn’t afford it right now. He couldn’t be weak, not now. And above all he couldn’t let Megatron gloat about having violated the Prime like this. He had to show both the Autobots and the Decepticons that he was stronger than they expected, and that this act couldn’t bring him down.

Ratchet looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end he gave up. “How soon you recover depends on what you decide to do about another matter, sir.”

“Explain, Ratchet,” he ordered, more shortly than he’d intended.

“When Megatron… coupled with you, he evidently didn’t take proper precautions,” Ratchet replied. “Optimus… you’re carrying.”

His CPU blanked out at that news, and he stared open-mouthed at the medic, at a complete loss for words. Carrying… he was with spark by Megatron. Of all the outcomes he had expected from their battle with Unicron, this was the one he’d expected the least.

“You have a choice, sir,” Ratchet continued. “You can choose to purge the spark, and spend a week or so in recovery before returning to duty. Or you can choose to carry the sparkling to term, in which case you’d need to reduce your workload for a month or so until the sparkling is ready to be delivered. Then a few more weeks of recovery would be needed before you’re ready to return to duty.” He looked like he hated himself for saying all this. “It’s up to you which course of action you take.”

Unconsciously Optimus moved a hand to his abdomen, over the gestational chamber every Cybertronian carried inside them. He should have been horrified all over again by this. Logic told him that it was in everyone’s best interest that he terminate the spark immediately, that he obliterate all signs that Megatron had abused him. The Autobots needed him in full health and repair, not performing at half capacity. And knowing this sparkling was of Megatron’s get would only horrify his troops… and should have horrified him as well.

But every time he even considered the possibility of purging the spark, he recoiled from it. The sparkling might carry part of Megatron’s programming… but it also carried his own. It was every bit as much his as it was Megatron’s, and destroying it would be destroying a part of himself. And despite who its father was, this was still an innocent life, a child who had done nothing save existed for a brief time. He could no sooner order it terminated than he could draw a weapon on a sparkling and pull the trigger. It would destroy everything he had worked so hard to achieve as a Prime.

His voice was quiet but still authoritative as he spoke his next words. “I will carry the sparkling to term. But I believe it would be best if the Autobots did not find this out. It could have… unpleasant consequences.”

Ratchet nodded, and Optimus swore he looked relieved at his choice. “What do we tell the Autobots when the sparkling is born, sir? They’re not stupid – they’re not going to believe we just happened to find a sparkling somewhere. Especially if it’s born looking like you.”

“We will cross that bridge when we come to it,” Optimus replied. He looked around, puzzled at how empty the base looked. “Where is everyone?”

“I sent them out,” Ratchet replied. “When you got here, you were terrified out of your wits. I had to empty the base to get you to calm down.”

Optimus nodded, suddenly feeling weary down to his support struts. “I… think I need to rest. Alert me if anything important occurs.”

“Will do, sir. I’ll inform the others you’re not to be disturbed.” He reached up to pat the Prime’s shoulder. “Optimus… I’m sorry. I wish we had gotten to you sooner.”

Optimus shook his head. “There is no changing the past, Ratchet. We can only do what needs to be done now to fix it.”

Something stirred by his leg at that moment, and he lifted his head to investigate it. Every servo and joint in his body froze in shock at the sight of the creature – a tiny Insecticon, gazing up at Optimus with a brightly glowing visor, its entire body waggling like an overeager puppy.

“Ratchet… how did that get in the base?”

“That’s Bob, sir,” Ratchet replied carefully. “You brought him with you. We didn’t have the spark to take him from you – you seemed fond of him.”

Optimus wondered what could have possessed him to carry an Insecticon spawnling from the Nemesis to the Autobot base. Perhaps Megatron had been able to influence him more than he wanted to admit. “Lock it up. I don’t want it wandering the base by itself.”

“But Optimus-“

“It’s dangerous,” he said sternly. “I’d rather not come online to find it’s bitten through someone’s fuel lines in their recharge, or destroyed half the base.”

Ratchet grimaced, but he scooped up the Insecticon anyhow. “C’mon, Bob.”

“Bob” gave a confused warble and struggled in the medic’s grip, arms outstretched in Optimus’ direction. As Ratchet carried it off it gave a piercing cry, one that ripped at the Prime’s spark and made him flinch. He tried to steel himself against it, telling himself that this was a vicious creature that couldn’t be trusted, but somehow that sounded hollow. And somehow that cry tugged at his memory in a way he couldn’t identify…

He thought he would never be able to drop offline – so much had happened in so short a time, and there was still so much on his CPU that it hurt to try to process it all. But exhaustion claimed him before he could do much more than lay his head back on the berth

***

A cluster of Vehicons and Insecticons were conversing in hushed tones in the hallway when Megatron rounded the corner, but the moment they saw their leader coming they scattered in all directions like scraplets from a liquid-nitrogen bomb. Most of them hurried off down the corridors, as if quickly finding something else to occupy themselves, but others simply hung back and watched their leader pass by, optics bright with fear. Even Hardshell, normally fearless, fidgeted nervously as the Decepticon warlord stormed past.

Megatron didn’t so much as give the cowering soldiers a second glance as he strode toward the sparring room, ominous in his silence. In the days since Orion had fled the Nemesis his mood had grown dark and brooding. He radiated a silent anger wherever he went, causing even Dreadwing and Soundwave to keep their distance. Starscream had wisely made himself scarce at every available opportunity, and Softpaw picked up on his friend’s unease and snarled threateningly whenever the warlord appeared. Under normal circumstances such an action would have earned a blade through the Insecticon’s chassis, but Megatron seemed too preoccupied to bother.

That was perhaps the most disturbing aspect of Megatron’s current anger – the fact that despite his simmering rage he had yet to lash out at any of his troops. He hadn’t hauled Starscream out to use as a punching bag, nor had he resorted to abusing his own troops for some perceived slight. That should have been a relief, but it only made everyone all the more uneasy. Megatron had yet to give vent to his anger, and they all sensed that it would build up to an ugly explosion if this kept up for much longer.

Megatron was not oblivious to his troops’ fear, nor did he feel it was entirely unjustified. He knew he was a ticking time bomb, that if he kept himself bottled up like this he would do something catastrophic in the near future. But he couldn’t bring himself to take out his anger on any of his troops. Orion’s presence aboard the Nemesis had changed him in that respect – he had grown to see his troops as actual beings, not just faceless mooks, and as a consequence he found himself unexpectedly reluctant to hurt them.

Nor could he confide in his lieutenants, even those he’d had no reason to distrust in the past. Starscream would use anything he said for his own gain, Dreadwing would call treason or dishonor and find a new leader to follow, and Soundwave would simply point out that he’d warned Megatron this would happen and it was his own fault for letting it. In this, he was entirely alone.

The worst part of all this was that he couldn’t deny what he was sure Soundwave would say if he had the chance – that this truly was his own fault. He’d let his emotions get the better of him, a costly mistake. He’d allowed himself to soften his guard too much around Orion, losing his spark to the one mech he could never have. And in trying to keep both Orion and his status among the Decepticons, he had lost the young archivist forever.

 _Perhaps it’s for the best,_ he told himself. _He would have returned to being Optimus sooner or later. There was no hope for it working out. Best to forget what could have been and focus on the now, on winning this war and taking control of Cybertron once and for all._

He couldn’t quite convince himself of that, however. No matter how many times he tried to tell himself Orion was now the enemy, his spark still ached for the other mech. And the prospect of returning to Cybertron to rule it alone now seemed achingly lonely.

The sparring room was empty when he got there, and he quickly programmed the holo-generator to send out its usual string of holographic opponents before drawing his sword. Perhaps a practice bout would distract him from this whole mess, and help relieve some of his pent-up rage.

A ghostly Autobot materialized and sprang at him, and Megatron sidestepped the image and jabbed out with his arm blade. The weapon would have punched through his foe’s chestplate had it been solid, but as it was the holographic enemy simply fizzled and dematerialized the moment the metal passed through it. Megatron humphed in disdain but turned to meet the next target. This wasn’t nearly as satisfying as fighting steel-and-oil opponents, but it would have to do.

Again and again the room’s computer system generated false opponents for the warlord to take down, sometimes singly, sometimes in groups. Once in awhile said opponents would take on the forms of Autobots he knew – Arcee, Cliffjumper, Wheeljack, that infernal medic – and Megatron would take great pleasure in toying with them before taking them down. One of these days it would be the real thing…

The computer registered yet another kill as the image of Bulkhead blinked out, then it spat out a final opponent… and Megatron froze in place.

_Orion…_

The red-and-blue Autobot met Megatron’s gaze for a moment, azure optics locked onto scarlet. There was a serenity to his expression, a peace that Megatron had always envied… a peace that he had only tasted when in Orion’s company. For a bewildering moment his CPU mis-computed the data from his optics, and his spark tightened in joy. He had returned…

Then a savage snarl crossed the Autobot’s face, and he charged, a blade sliding from his arm and slicing through the air towards Megatron’s chest. Before he could fully process what was happening, the blade passed through his breastplate, right over his spark chamber… and the hologram of Optmius Prime blinked out of existence.

_DEAD._

Megatron whirled to find Soundwave standing in the doorway. How long had the communications officer been watching?

 _FIRST LOSS IN MATCH WITH OPTIMUS PRIME IN TRAINING SIMULATION,_ Soundwave noted, his mask flickering with violet light. _LOSS IN SKILLS… OR LOSS OF WILL TO FIGHT._

Megatron sneered at the slender jetformer and stalked past him, making for his quarters. The light tick of the communications officer’s feet signaled that he wasn’t done talking, but Megatron stared straight ahead, hoping if he didn’t react, he’d go away.

_RELUCTANCE TO FIGHT OPTIMUS PRIME OBSERVED. STARSCREAM AND DREADWING’S FEARS ACCURATE. YOU POSSESS FONDNESS FOR ORION PAX, NOW OPTIMUS PRIME._

“Took you long enough to figure that out,” Megatron snarled, lengthening his stride in an effort to lose his unwanted shadow. “One would think that since you predicted this, you would have been the first to see it.”

_SAW THE SIGNS. CHOSE TO BELIEVE YOU RECOGNIZED THE DANGER AND WOULD ACT ACCORDINGLY._

Megatron whirled, feeling his anger and grief at losing Orion reach its breaking point. “Just say it already, will you?! Say it! Say ‘I told you so!’ You predicted this all along, and I was an idiot and ignored you! Just get it over with, will you?!”

Soundwave didn’t even flinch, just gazed up at Megatron with his usual inscrutable stare. In contrast Megatron’s entire frame shook with anger, fans working overtime to cool a frame overheated with emotion. Vaguely he was aware that he was just seconds away from striking the jetformer, and that despite his prowess in battle Soundwave would snap like a glass rod if he struck a blow… but any rational part of himself was quickly burning away.

Finally, Soundwave moved, raising a thin-clawed hand to rest on Megatron’s arm. SORRY.

Surprise cut through his rage, and he rebooted his optics before staring back down at the jetformer. “W-what?”

 _ORION MADE YOU HAPPY. OBSERVED YOU BEING TRULY HAPPY FOR FIRST TIME IN VORNS IN HIS COMPANY. COULD NOT OBJECT TOO STRONGLY IN LIGHT OF THAT EVIDENCE._ His wings drooped just slightly, the greatest display of sadness he had ever seen Soundwave exhibit. _DREADWING AND STARSCREAM’S OBJECTIONS TO YOUR FEELINGS TOWARD HIM DEPRIVED YOU OF THAT HAPPINESS. SHOULD NOT HAVE PRESSED IT. REQUEST… REQUEST FORGIVENESS._

The rage drained out of him in an instant, and with it any inclination to cause the communications officer harm. Soundwave had seen it all along, but had let it happen – not in order to gloat about it later, but out of his leader’s best interest. He had known Soundwave to be one of his most loyal lieutenants, but he had no idea he had actually cared about his commander. Had he known this earlier, perhaps he could have confided in him, and found a better solution than lying to his troops… and breaking Orion’s spark in the process.

“F-forgiveness… granted,” he murmured.

Soundwave nodded. _FURTHER DISCUSSION REQUESTED._

“What else is there to discuss?” he demanded, and even to his own audials he sounded miserable. “Orion’s gone. There’s nothing left to do but resume our plans to take over this world.”

_PLANS MUST NOT RESUME UNTIL COMMMANDER’S EMOTIONAL STABILITY ENSURED. TALK. WILL LISTEN._

Megatron sighed and relented. “Not here. We’ll continue this discussion in my office.”

Soundwave nodded and led the way, Megatron trailing slightly behind. This didn’t dull the pain of losing Orion any, but it felt better knowing at least one of his officers understood, and was willing to help him instead of using his weakness against him. Perhaps things would get better after all.

***

A shrill squeak broke Optimus’ concentration, and with a sigh he put down the datapad he’d been scanning and pushed himself to his feet. He winced slightly as the increasing weight in his gestational chamber protested the movement, and for a moment his fuel tanks churned ominously. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to lose his energon, he made his way out into the main area of the base.

 _This business of carrying is going to take some getting used to,_ he thought wearily. The sparkling was growing rapidly, the nanobots and self-repair systems of his own body working overtime to create the new body within him, and as a consequence he found himself becoming tired far more easily. Just walking around the base was enough to tire him out, and if he pushed himself too hard he paid for it with aching joints and back struts. And his body’s response to the extra nanobots in his systems wasn’t exactly welcoming – more mornings than not he woke up with a sudden need to purge his fuel or oil tanks.

Ratchet had done his best to keep Optimus’ condition under wraps, but both the medic and the Prime knew that the Autobots suspected something was wrong. He’d heard them conversing among themselves, speculating about what could be afflicting their leader. Bumblebee seemed convinced that Optimus was just recovering from his captivity and would get better soon, while Arcee kept making dark remarks about the Decepticons planting a virus in his systems before letting him go. None seemed to suspect the truth… yet.

Despite everything, however, Optimus couldn’t bring himself to regret his decision. It had been far too long since any births had been recorded among the Autobots, and a sparkling meant the possibility of restoring Cybertron and rebuilding their kind’s numbers. True, he’d never expected to carry a sparkling of his own, but he was determined to see the little one as a sign of hope, rather than a product of his abuse at Megatron’s hands.

Of the Autobots, only Arcee and Wheeljack were in the base at the moment – Ratchet was preoccupied with something in the repair bay and everyone else was on patrol. The two Autobots were discussing something, but before Optimus could get close enough to find out what they noticed him and shut up quickly. That was an ominous sign… but he chose not to press it for now.

“Prime, sir,” Wheeljack acknowledged, saluting. “You okay? You look a little run-down.”

“I’m fine,” he replied, nodding at the Wrecker. “Still recovering, but I’m fully capable of fulfilling my duties.” He frowned as another shriek filled the air. “What’s that noise?”

“The Insecticon you dragged into the base,” Arcee replied, giving an irritated scowl. “It won’t shut up, either. Every time someone goes near its cage it starts making a racket.”

“I see.” Another odd situation, though not as odd as his current with-spark condition. No one was quite sure why Optimus had been found in the company of an Insecticon sparkling, but all parties had agreed that the creature had to be kept locked up until they were sure it wasn’t dangerous. The beast wasn’t exactly helping its own case in that respect – it growled at any Autobot that passed by its cage that wasn’t Ratchet or Optimus, and when either of those two came near it would begin crying and whimpering loudly. The sounds were spark-breaking… and kept pulling at something in Optimus’ CPU, something hidden…

“Maybe we should just let it go,” Wheeljack suggested. “Or give it back to Megatron. Anything to get it out of the base.”

“Let it go?” repeated Arcee. “That’s a brilliant idea – let it go attack the humans or blow our cover here. And giving it to Megatron’s not much better – we’d practically be giving him another soldier. We’re better off terminating it.”

“No,” Prime blurted, and winced at how quickly that answer had come from his vocalizer. Arcee and Wheeljack looked up at him, confused.

“No,” he repeated more calmly. “We will not deactivate a sparkling, no matter what its parentage. If it proves to not be a danger, I’m certain we can find a use for it. Perhaps we can raise it as an Autobot.”

“Good luck with that,” Wheeljack laughed. “Insecticons aren’t much better than animals. You’d be better off trying to teach a scraplet to live off plants.”

Before Optimus could respond to that the Insecticon shrieked again – high, splitting cries of fear that made everyone flinch. The sparkling wasn’t just distressed now – it was genuinely terrified.

The next thing Optimus knew, he was running for the corner of the base that contained the Insecticon’s cage. The creature cowered in a corner of its enclosure, shaking and wailing, curled up in a ball and trying to cover its head with its arms. The source of its distress was evident immediately – the human children were gathered around the cage, and Miko was kicking at the bars.

“Not so tough now, are you, ugly bug?” she taunted.

“Miko, knock it off!” Raf insisted. “You’re scaring him!”

“So? It’s a dumb Insecticon! Who cares if it’s scared?”

“And I’m sure you’d like it if Megatron had YOU in a cage and was kicking the bars,” Jack noted sarcastically. “Come on, Miko, you’ve made your point let’s go.”

“Aw, ruin my fun, why don’t you?” she huffed. “Hey, somebody got a stick? Maybe it’s ticklish.”

Without warning something flashed before Optimus’ optics – a fragment of memory, completely disconnected from anything familiar save the sparkling. But the sparkling in his memory didn’t match up to the cowering creature at Miko’s mercy. This one gazed adoringly up at him, visor bright and happy, body wriggling in excitement, a datapad clamped in its teeth. There was no fear or pain in this memory, only content and even fondness toward Bob…

Bob. Ratchet had called this creature Bob. He wasn’t just a miniature enemy soldier that had tagged along with Optimus – he was a friend, something he had regarded with fondness at one time. And the longer he focused on that memory, the more fragments began to rise to the surface…

_Take him with you when you go. At least one of our number should be able to grow up away from the war, and be given the opportunity to live a life beyond fighting and death._

He nodded solemnly, as if in response to that faceless speaker in his past. Then he reached down and pulled Miko away from the cage.

“That’s enough,” he said firmly.

“Huh?” Miko looked up at Optimus, startled. “Oh, uh… we just wanted to look at the Insecticon.”

“It seems to me you’ve done far more than just looking,” Optimus replied, his voice cold and full of steel. “This is not just an enemy creature, Miko – this is a sparkling. A child. An innocent life.”

“How do you know that?” Jack protested. “It just looks like a tiny Insecticon to me.”

“Not entirely,” Raf pointed out. “It’s not just smaller; its proportions are off too. And it doesn’t have the spikes that adult Insecticons do. Prime’s right – it could be a juvenile, not just a miniature subspecies.”

“It’s still evil!” Miko insisted. “It tried to bite me through the bars!”

“Because you poked it,” Jack pointed out.

“Did not!”

“That is enough,” Optimus repeated, and he reached down and opened the cage. Bob uncurled and gazed up at him hopefully, his cries abating and his tremors easing.

“Optimus, what are you doing?” Arcee demanded. “If that thing goes after the kids…”

Before she could finish Bob acted. He bolted from the cage, almost running over Miko in the process, and wrapped himself around Optimus’ shin guard, clicking and purring happily.

“Well… that’s new,” Jack noted.

Optimus reached down and pried Bob off his leg, then settled him in his arms. The sparkling nestled against his chestplates and chirped contentedly, and Optimus felt his spark warm in response. Whatever Bob had been to him as Orion Pax, he was evidently a source of good memories rather than traumatic. And someone had charged him with keeping him safe. Bob was his responsibility now, and he would take that duty seriously from here on out.

“From now on, anyone who harms or purposefully frightens the sparkling answers to me,” he informed the gathered Autobots and humans. “He will be raised as one of us. That is final.”

Before anyone could protest the order he turned and walked out, heading back for his berth. Tending to a sparkling Insecticon had not been one of his duties as Prime, but he would carry it out to the best of his ability. And if nothing else, it would be excellent practice for when his own sparkling was finally born. He just hoped Bob was up for having a brother or a sister.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long-ish chapter, sorry... lot of stuff that needed to happen...
> 
> EDIT 9/5/13: This chapter has been edited! Re-reading is encouraged as some details have been changed.

Optimus awoke to an uncomfortable pressure in his oil tank, and he grimaced in annoyance. What half-clocked being had designed Cybertronian bodies so that the gestational chamber was right over the oil tank anyhow? Under normal circumstances a mech only needed to change his oil every few weeks, but the weight of a developing sparkling put enough pressure on the tank that it often triggered fluid pressure warnings and even accidental leaks. And since he couldn’t exactly go rushing to Ratchet every time his oil pressure spiked, the quickest way to deal with it was to drain his tank until the pressure eased.

“You’re not going to let me sleep through the night for a good long while, are you?” he muttered, resting a hand on his abdomen, before moving to sit up. Bob was curled up on his chestplate, just over his spark, and he carefully moved the sleeping Insecticon before climbing off the berth and going to take care of business.

The base was eerily quiet tonight – though given the hour, that was perfectly understandable. Bumblebee was outside on sentry duty, the humans would be at their respective homes, and everyone else would be deep in recharge at this time. Even Ratchet, a notorious workaholic, was sprawled in a chair at the communications console, his even venting almost drowned out by the steady hum of the base’s computer systems.

Optimus gave a slight smile as he passed by the sleeping medic on his way back to his berth. The poor mech… he had nearly worn himself into the ground trying to take over in his stead. He owed Ratchet greatly for everything he had done, and continued to do, for the Autobot cause. 

Funny… there had been a point in Optimus’ life when he had considered striking up a relationship with the medic. They had been friends for some time, and he trusted the white mech a great deal. Ratchet even knew certain aspects of Optimus’ past that he’d never shared with anyone else, things that he dared not reveal to anyone else but he knew Ratchet would keep quiet about. And he was fairly certain Ratchet would reciprocate his feelings if he ever proposed they make their friendship something more.

But that was before he had become a Prime in full, and his dreams of having a relationship with anyone, much less a subordinate officer, had been dashed. He was the Prime, leader of the Autobots, and as such he had to belong to every Autobot, not just one mech. His responsibility was to ensure the safety and continued happiness of his people, not to worry about himself or his own desires. At least, that was what his mentors among the Autobot officers had always told him…

_“That’s what it means to be a Prime, kid – your life no longer belongs to you. Anything you had before – goals, ambitions, loves or crushes, any dreams of a career or a family – that’s all gone for good. From this moment on you live for the cause only. Everything you do is for the greater good of your people, not for your own good. Every decision you make is in their best interests, not in yours. And don’t do it expecting a reward for your service, ‘cause it ain’t going to happen. The best reward you can expect is for them to remember you when you’re gone, and if you’re lucky they might put up a statue in your memory and remember all the good you did instead of your failures…”_

He shook his head, forcing himself away from that line of thought. That had been a miserable time of his life – the abrupt transition from a naïve young data clerk to an Autobot commander, and the ruthless training he had undergone to make that change. Perhaps his mentors had succeeded in crafting a proper Prime out of Orion Pax, but even he had to admit that the process had left its scars. 

And there were times when he longed for the days before he had taken up the Matrix, the simpler time in his life when all he had to worry about was recording information in the archives and trying to discover where Alpha Trion had hidden all the interesting volumes. There were times he wanted to give up the duty of being a Prime, and be able to live his own life. It would never happen, of course… but he could fantasize.

Perhaps, he thought, having a sparkling would give him a little personal happiness – something he hadn’t had in far too long. True, he would still be technically living to serve another being, but it would be a sacrifice he would gladly make.

An alarm sounded on the communication screen, and Ratchet snorted and sat bolt upright. His body had obviously woken up before his CPU had, however, because he simply sat there for a few moments, muttering something about “fraggit, I needed that” instead of answering the comm.

Optimus stepped forward and peered at the screen. Who would be trying to contact them at this hour? Agent Fowler had never called this late…

His spark jolted. “It’s from the Nemesis. It’s Megatron.”

“Hnngh?” Ratchet peered at the screen, rebooting his optics sleepily. Within an astrosecond the sleep cleared from his face, and he clenched his jaw angrily. “He’s got a lot of nerve to get in touch with us now, after all he’s done…”

“Ratchet,” Optimus said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s see what he wants before we make assumptions.” It was highly unlikely that Megatron would want to call a truce now, after so long, but some part of Prime’s spark – perhaps a holdover from his peaceful archivist days – wanted to hold out hope.

“He probably called to gloat,” Ratchet said sourly. “Or if he knows you’re carrying, to demand we give him the sparkling.”

That caused his fuel tanks to clench, and unconsciously he moved to place a protective hand over his belly. The child… Megatron wouldn’t be that cruel, would he? But then, he’d proven himself to be sadistic enough to assault an amnesiac captive, so wanting the child resulting from his abusive behavior wouldn’t be past him.

 _He won’t have the sparkling,_ he vowed. _I won’t let it happen. It’s been so long since I’ve had any joy in my life… let me at least have the child. Let me have that much happiness._

He reached out and touched a button, opening the message. It was text-only, and only a few lines at that, but it was enough to confuse and terrify him.

_“We know the location of your base, Optimus Prime. If you want to spare your Autobots from destruction, meet me at the following coordinates at sunrise. Come alone.”_

Ratchet opened and shut his mouth a few times before finding the wherewithal to reply. “I scanned you and Bob repeatedly! You weren’t carrying any tracking devices!”

“He could be bluffing," Optimus pointed out. "But... under the circumstances, can we really be sure?"

"I don't know!" Ratchet growled, slamming a fist into the console. "Who knows what that mech thinks, or what his plans involve? But are we going to just sit here and debate how he found us while he puts our base in his sights?"

Optimus wouldn't lie -- his first instinct was to flee, far from the Nemesis, far from the mech who had caused him so much pain. But fear gave way to anger… anger at Megatron for daring to do this to him. Anger for defiling him, for not simply being content with manipulating him against the Autobots, but using him as casually as if he were merely a toy for his own sick pleasures. Doubtless he thought that Optimus would be so badly shaken at learning what had happened to him that it would be child’s play to defeat him one on one.

Well… if that was Megatron’s expectation, he was going to be rudely surprised. Optimus was beyond shaken and traumatized now – he was enraged. And he was determined to make Megatron pay for his sick deeds. 

“Gather the Autobots,” he ordered. "There's a warehouse close to where Jack works where they can take refuge until this is over. No one is to return to the base until I return."

Ratchet frowned at him, picking up on the tone of his voice and not liking what he heard in the least. “Optimus… you can’t possibly…”

“I have no choice,” he replied. “If I don’t go, the Nemesis will fire on the base. Everything we’ve striven to accomplish on this planet will have been in vain.”

“If you do go, who knows what he’ll do to you!” Ratchet snapped. “And to the sparkling!”

As if in response to the medic's protest, something stirred abruptly in Optimus' gestational chamber, seeming to squirm and kick at the walls. He flinched and pressed a hand to his abdomen, worry prickling through his neural net. But as abruptly as the sparkling had moved, it stilled again, and with a sigh he lowered his hand. Perhaps it was just reacting to its carrier's emotional state... nothing to worry about yet.

"Optimus, are you all right?" demanded Ratchet. "The sparkling..."

“We're fine," Optimus insisted. "It just moved suddenly." He did a brief system check, ensuring all his weapons were online and in good repair. “How long do we have until sunrise?”

“An hour and a half. But Optimus…”

“Ratchet, I have to do this. For the Autobots… and for myself. After all Megatron’s done to me, if I don’t face him now, he wins.”

“And if… if you don’t come back?” The fear and pain on Ratchet’s face made Optimus’ spark lurch. “The last time you were gone, the Autobots nearly fell apart. If you don’t come back this time…”

He rested a hand on the medic’s shoulder. “I WILL come back. This I promise you. This is not the last time we’ll speak face to face.” He offered him a comforting smile, despite feeling far from confident or happy at the moment. “It has been an honor serving with you, Ratchet.”

Ratchet took a deep intake of air. “It’s been an honor serving with you, Optimus.”

He nodded and lowered his hand. “Open the ground bridge.”

Ratchet got up and moved to the ground bridge controls. Optimus gave his weapons systems one last check, then turned to the portal that irised open before him. It was time for a reckoning.

***

_THIS IS A BAD IDEA._

Megatron was miles away from his communications officer at that moment, far out of his line of sight, but that didn’t stop him from scowling in the general direction of the Nemesis. _It was YOUR idea, Soundwave._

_AFFIRMITIVE. STILL BAD IDEA._

_Then why did you suggest it in the first place?_ Megatron stepped down into the dry canyon that he’d chosen as the location for his and Optimus’ meeting, though he was careful not to go too deep. Something about the stone and the shape of the canyon dampened communication wavelengths, and once he entered fully he would be out of radio contact with the Nemesis. 

It was a risk – if anything were to happen to him, the Decepticons wouldn’t find out until it was too late – but it would at least ensure Optimus couldn’t call for backup before Megatron could say what he came to say.

 _CONFRONTATION WITH OPTIMUS NECESSARY,_ Soundwave admitted. _REQUIRED FOR YOU TO MOVE ON. STILL BAD IDEA… BUT BETTER THAN THE ALTERNATIVES._

Megatron gazed into the abyss below, having his own reservations about this. He wanted to see Orion again more than anything, and he hoped beyond hope that the younger mech still had some fond memories of their time together. If nothing else, he wanted the opportunity to apologize for his harsh words, and to invite him back aboard the Nemesis if he so wished. If he’d regained his memories as Optimus, then it was doubtful he’d accept… but it was worth a shot at least.

Of course, there was always the risk that Optimus had shown up with backup, or that the Autobots had come in their leader’s stead to take their revenge. But it was a risk he would take. His desire to see Orion again, and to at least say goodbye, was too great.

 _I’m going in,_ Megatron declared.

_ORDERS IF YOU DO NOT RETURN?_

_Then assume I am dead and take charge of the Decepticons. Do as you see fit in my stead._

_NOTED. IT HAS BEEN AN HONOR, LORD MEGATRON._

Megatron nodded and continued his descent. Within moments static fogged the radio connection, and soon it broke off entirely. He was alone now.

For a time he simply walked the length of the canyon, reaching the end and then turning around to pace it again. He tried to rehearse what he wanted to say to Orion, to put together the words in the best manner possible. During the days of his revolution he had always prided himself in his ability to stir a crowd with his speech, in knowing just what to say and how to say it to win mechs over to his side. And even aboard the Nemesis he’d had the knack for being able to weave words in just the right manner to suit his needs.

But now the words wouldn’t come. Nothing he could come up with seemed to work – no matter how eloquent the apology, it always seemed false and hollow. At this moment, when he needed his gift the most, it chose to abandon him.

 _Perhaps because for once you’re trying to speak the honest truth and not a falsehood,_ something jeered in the back of his CPU. _Your word-weaving got you into this mess in the first place – you can’t expect it to get you back out._

He snarled a curse and kicked a pillar of rock, shattering it. Fraggit, how was he going to get himself out of this mess?

Once he reached the other end of the canyon, he turned to begin his trek again… and stopped short. A familiar mech was stepping out of a ground bridge portal a hundred yards away, the morning light and the peculiar illumination from the rift shining on his scarlet and blue armor. The portal closed behind him, and Optimus Prime drew himself up straight, blue optics meeting Megatron’s gaze.

Orion… His spark leaped, and he couldn’t keep a smile from crossing his faceplate. He was almost exactly as he’d remembered him, carrying himself with a quiet, almost regal grace and dignity. The Decepticon symbols on his shoulders were absent, replaced by the Autobot crests, but that was to be expected. And for the moment, it seemed too trivial to worry about – all that mattered was that he was here.

“Orion…” he began, taking a step forward.

There was a wicked snap as Optimus’ battle mask clicked into place, and with a roar of anger he charged, arm blades sliding out as he ran. Megatron’s optics flared in surprise, but unlike the previous incident in the simulator he didn’t stand frozen in shock but acted at once. His own arm-blade slid free, catching Optimus’ weapon before it could connect.

“Don’t call me Orion,” Optimus snarled, optics flashing with anger. “You have NO right to call me that!”

Megatron pushed, shoving Optimus back a step so their blades unlocked. “Very well, Optimus… I did not come here to fight you. I called you here to talk.”

Optimus gave a bitter laugh. “You threaten the Autobots and our base because you want to talk? You haven’t changed an iota.”

“It was the only way I could get your attention,” he replied. “Once I’ve said what I came to say, you may do what you will… but hear me out.”

The Autobot commander glared at him, optics burning with a rage Megatron hadn’t seen since the attack that had nearly claimed Bumblebee and his human companion’s lives. That cut him as surely as Optimus’ blades – just weeks ago, those same optics had looked upon him with love and devotion… a love and devotion he’d misused for his own ends…

“Talk, then,” Optimus ordered. “What do you have to say?”

Megatron considered every possible speech he’d put together while waiting for this meeting, then discarded them all. Better to speak directly from the spark, he figured.

“I called you here to apologize, Optimus. I… hurt you… back when you were on the Nemesis. And that is something I can never forgive myself for. I am sorry. I truly am.”

Optimus stared at him, optics brightening in surprise. Then said optics narrowed in anger, and he brought his arm up to catch Megatron in the abdominal plate. He had to backpedal to avoid being gutted, stunned at this sudden show of aggression.

“You’re sorry?” Optimus demanded. “That’s all you have to say for yourself? You’re SORRY?”

“Optimus-“ Megatron began.

“You USED me!” he roared, cutting him off. “You took advantage of me and manipulated me! You expect me to forgive you for that? For turning me into your slave, your personal pleasure-bot? You disgust me!”

Optimus struck out with both arms now, fists and arm blades flashing in the sunlight. His technique was horribly sloppy as he lashed out in rage, leaving himself wide open for a well-timed blow or shot. Megatron knew he could easily end the fight any time he chose, but he remained on the defensive, using his sword only to block, dodging and sidestepping each blow rather than fighting back. Each miss only seemed to enrage Optimus all the more.

 _He’s never fought this brutally before,_ he realized, twisting out of the way as Optimus stabbed at his neck cables. _Why now?_

A fist caught him just below the chest plate, and he doubled over. He regained his senses just in time to writhe away from the blade that followed up that punch, but he could still feel the edge slice through his side. He hissed in pain and staggered back, trying to put as much distance between them as he could.

“I never meant to hurt you!” Megatron protested. 

“Never meant to hurt me?” Optimus repeated. “You raped me, Megatron! You couldn’t be content with turning me against the Autobots, you had to use me to satisfy your sick urges!”

He felt as if he’d taken Breakdown’s hammer to the chest. “What?”

“Don’t deny it!” Optimus stormed forward, blade raised, the edge stained with energon and hydraulic fluid. “Ratchet found proof of it! Here I thought at least some things were beneath you… but it appears I was wrong. You’ve sunk so low that I don’t even recognize you as Megatronus anymore!”

Megatron shook his head as he backed away, until the rock wall of the canyon met his back and stopped his retreat. This didn’t add up. Even by the Autobots’ prudish standards, his seduction of Orion couldn’t have been rape. The data clerk had been willing, even eager, to interface every time, and Megatron had always been gentle and attentive to his partner. Unless Optimus counted seducing him under false pretenses to be the same as an assault…

 _He said “Ratchet found proof,”_ he realized. _He acts as if he doesn't remember it happening himself... this makes no sense..._

"Did you enjoy it?" Optimus snarled, optics ablaze. "Did you have me all to yourself? Or did you pass me among your troops a few times for laughs? I know you Decepticons have sick tastes..."

 _Why is he even asking this?_ Megatron thought irritably. _He never even 'faced anyone else but Knockout, and that was hardly "passing him among the troops." And he was right there, fraggit, he should remember all this..._

The realization sent a jolt through him – perhaps Optimus asked because he DIDN'T remember. That would make horrible sense, that whatever process the Autobots used to bring back his memories as Optimus Prime would also wipe out his memory of the months spent aboard the Nemesis, his friendships among the Decepticons… and his declaration of love to Megatron himself. He had no memory of anything, be it a willing interface or a rape; all he had to go by was whatever explanation Ratchet had given him. And of course, the medic had managed to twist both Megatron’s words and whatever evidence he’d uncovered during a physical examination to convince Optimus that he’d been forced.

The knowledge that Optimus didn’t even remember their relationship stung… but perhaps he could still reason with him. If nothing else, he had to convince him that he hadn’t abused him. Even if their relationship was forever shattered because of this, he wanted Optimus to come away from this knowing the truth.

“Optimus, you have it wrong,” he began, only for a fist upside his jaw to cut him off. He reeled back, stunned, only to see an arm blade slashing toward him, aimed at taking his head off. Fraggit, where was the calm, reasonable Prime when he needed him?

***

Optimus snarled in frustration as Megatron ducked under the blade, the edge missing his helm by a matter of inches. He slashed again, but the warlord twisted under his arm and sprinted a few steps away. Fluids stained his side from a ragged gash, and his fangs were bared as he panted for cool air.

“What’s wrong with you?” Optimus demanded, moving to close the distance between them. “Normally you’re spoiling for a fight. Why so reluctant now?”

“I told you, I don’t want to fight you!” Megatron growled, pressing a hand to his wounded side. “You have to listen to me! You have it wrong!”

His denial was only fuel on the fire, sending a fresh wave of anger through his chassis. Of course he’d deny it. This mech was a liar to the core, willing to stoop to any level to bring mechs to his side or achieve whatever goals he had. And of course he’d refuse to admit that he’d assaulted Orion, if only to save his own sorry aft. 

He charged again, and this time Megatron didn’t quite get out of the way in time. Both mechs went sprawling, and Optimus managed to catch himself and roll to his feet. Megatron took longer to get up, stunned by the fall… and before he could right himself Optimus had a foot planted in his chest and a blade aimed at his throat.

“O-Optimus…” Megatron’s voice trailed off, and for the first time Optimus could remember fear shone in the commander’s optics – real fear. Finally, the mech who had destroyed Cybertron and terrorized the galaxy for so long was at the end of his blade, completely at his mercy. Finally, this mech would face the justice he so richly deserved.

He should have felt some measure of triumph at that… and yet he didn’t. That irritated him, feeding into his rage, and he pressed the tip of his blade against Megatron’s throat.

“Tell me,” he demanded, voice low and deadly.

“Tell what?” Megatron was actually beginning to shake beneath him, the alloy of his armor trembling under his foot. 

“Tell me what you did to me,” he ordered. “Don’t leave anything out – I want to know exactly why I’m executing you. For your crimes against myself alone, you deserve no less.”

Megatron shuttered his optics, venting harder. “Optimus…”

“Tell me!” he roared, pressing harder. Some small part of him, the part that retained its grip on logic and sanity, demanded to know what the frag he was doing, threatening the life of a mech who refused to fight, but his rage shoved it aside. Megatron deserved this, deserved far worse than this…

Megatron’s optics opened, and he gazed up at Orion with a desperate expression. “Orion…”

“Don’t call me that!” he bellowed. “Tell me now!”

“I loved you, you idiot!” Megatron roared back, optics flashing.

That answer was so shocking, so unexpected, it left Optimus completely mute in amazement.

“You don’t remember a thing,” Megatron went on, his shaking easing a bit as he continued speaking. “Ratchet told you I’d interfaced with you and of course you stupid Autobots assume I raped you. Nothing could be further from the truth – you were willing when I took you, and you were so damned infatuated with me that you even wanted to bond sparks.”

Optimus just stared at him, and he felt his mask retract as his anger drained away. This couldn’t be… it had to be another lie. Yet something felt… right… about what he said…

“I had planned that from the start,” Megatron continued. “I encouraged it. I knew if I could get you to fall in love with me, I could ensure your loyalty.” He gave a resigned laugh. “How was I to know that I’d fall for my own con, and grow to love you in return?”

A memory returned, unbidden… a gentle touch of claws on the side of his face… a powerful body curled protectively around his… a feeling of safety, of content… 

“You left because you discovered the ruse. You overheard me speaking insultingly of you to my officers – for they believed I was weak for loving you, and would have overthrown me had I not convinced them my feelings for you were feigned. In that fashion, I hurt you… and for that, I plead your forgiveness. If I am guilty of taking advantage of you, it is for using your love for me for my ends, and dismissing you in order to save face.”

Optimus stared down at Megatron, still trying to process everything. Megatron just gazed back, wearing an expression Optimus couldn’t remember seeing before on his faceplate – one of love and regret, of aching desire. He wanted to deny everything and believe his old foe was lying to his face, but every word had sounded sincere and real. And somehow, he felt that it was the truth. He had, indeed, loved Megatron. And somehow, impossibly, Megatron had loved him back.

He pulled the blade away from Megatron’s neck, hesitating. Could he really kill this mech now? Knowing all this, despite the fact that he was a war criminal and rightly deserved this, could he really deal the death blow?

Before he could decide, a stabbing pain ripped through his chassis, and with a sharp cry he crumpled.

***

For a moment Megatron felt nothing but relief when Optimus finally pulled his foot off his chest… but only for a moment. The Autobot commander collapsed, gripping his abdomen, faceplates contorted in pain.

“Optimus!” He scrambled to his feet, reaching out for the mech. Optimus flinched away, venting hard, grinding his dental plates as he struggled not to cry out again.

“C-can’t…” he groaned. “Can’t… c-contact… Ratchet…”

“This canyon blocks radio signals,” Megatron told him. “Optimus, are you wounded?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, and tried to sit up, only to flinch and grunt in pain again. A sudden rush of fluid spilled down his thighs, pouring from beneath his panel. Megatron felt his internals clench in panic, wondering if somehow he’d accidentally hit Optimus in their struggle and damaged him internally.

But he couldn’t remember hitting Orion anywhere that would cause him to bleed from his interface equipment… and the fluid looked all wrong, not like energon or oil, more like gestational fluid… oh, Primus below…

“You’re carrying.”

Optimus nodded, and struggled to get to his feet. For a moment Megatron could only stare at him in utter dumbfoundment. A flood of conflicting emotions swept through him – shock, wonder, and most incredibly of all joy. He was carrying… and seeing as Knockout hadn’t spiked Orion during their night together, there was only one mech who could have sired this sparkling…

“You fool!” Megatron snarled, and grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him to the ground. “You came to fight me while you were with spark! Do you not have a shred of sense?”

He tried to reply, but only cried out as another wave of pain shook him. “G-got to call… Ratchet… please…”

“There’s no time!” Megatron pressed a hand to Optimus’ chest, preventing him from sitting up again. “Lie still! Vent! I’ll do this!”

Optimus looked about to protest the very thought of a Decepticon serving as midwife for his sparkling, but he grimaced as pain gripped him again, and he didn’t resist as Megatron adjusted his position, moving his legs apart and unlatching his panel. The sparkling was coming now, and wasn’t about to wait for them to get a medic to the scene. It fell to Megatron to help Optimus deliver.

Megatron wouldn’t admit it aloud, especially now, but the thought of assisting a birth was enough to scare him out of his wits. The closest he’d ever come to this experience had been watching a fellow gladiator who had unexpectedly gone into labor during a practice match, and even then he had merely watched from the sidelines as an actual medic had overseen the process. Now it was only him, and there was so much that could go wrong, so many things he could botch…

 _Knockout, where are you when I need you?!_ he railed.

Optimus’ venting hitched, and his entire body strained as his gestational chamber contracted. For a brief moment, a gleam of metal appeared at his valve entrance… a helm…

“Push!” Megatron barked.

“I’m… trying…” Optimus hissed and tensed as he pushed again. The helm reappeared, and Megatron lowered his hands as a head began to emerge. So close…

“Once more! It’s on its way out!”

“I… I can’t…” Optimus groaned.

“Do it!”

He opened his mouth as if to protest, but it came out a ripping cry. His body arched with pain and effort, and his valve spasmed as the rest of the body came out in a rush of fluid. Megatron felt his spark skip a beat as he caught it, suddenly terrified that he would lose his grip on the slippery chassis. It was out… now what? He had no idea…

The sparkling squirmed in his hands, coughing as its internal fans cleared of fluid. Then it opened its mouth and let out a high, plaintive cry.

“It’s alive,” Megatron marveled, carefully cradling the sparkling in his hands. “Optimus, you did it.”

Optimus didn’t respond. Megatron looked up, spark plummeting with worry. Had the strain of delivery been too much for him? No, he was alive, just venting hard and limp with exhaustion. How he had managed to withstand the pain of birthing a sparkling, he couldn’t begin to imagine.

He returned his attention to the sparkling, whose cries were becoming more insistent. Reaching into subspace, he pulled out a cloth and began to clean it up, taking extra care to avoid damaging or smothering it. Reddish gestational fluid cleared away, revealing the child’s true colors – a glossy jet-black, with deep blue markings on the helm, chest, and limbs and a silver faceplate. It had the helm shape and headfins of its carrier, but the sweeping optic ridges, clawed fingers, and some of the same exotically flared armor of its sire. And when he carefully lifted its panel with the tip of a claw, he identified its gender – a femme. A daughter.

A thin line of tubing still connected her to Optimus, and he carefully disconnected it. That seemed to get her attention, and she onlined her optics and looked up into Megatron’s face, her crying easing.

He felt his spark lurch in response. Her optics, pale amber and shining inquisitively, seemed to catch and hold his, locking their gazes. Her body was small enough to fit in his cupped hands, and felt so delicate he feared he would crush her without even trying. She felt so warm, so alive, and if he held her just so he could feel her systems hum and pulse with life… even feel her spark thrumming in her chest, bright and new.

He could barely control the feelings coursing through him as he studied his daughter. He’d created this sparkling, had a hand in her arrival to this universe. She was linked to him in a way nothing could sever. And despite having just laid optics on her, he couldn’t deny that he loved her, completely and fiercely. His spark was lost to her the moment their optics had met.

She keened softly and made to grab at his thumb, but she was still uncoordinated and couldn’t get a grip. He obliged her, moving his thumb so she could hold onto it, and she tried to pull it into her mouth. Of course… she was hungry. And being a sparkling, regular fuel wouldn’t cut it – a newborn sparkling normally took in energy from its carrier, the parent’s body serving as a natural filter and purifier. Was Optimus aware enough to take care of that, though…

“M-Megatron?”

He glanced up to find Optimus looking at him, his expression taut with worry. “She’s perfectly healthy, Optimus… but she needs energy.”

“She… a daughter…” Optimus smiled, and held his hands out for her. Megatron carefully transferred the sparkling to his hands, and Optimus settled her in before opening a panel on his chest, disconnecting a fuel line and offering it to her. She took it eagerly, crooning softly as she refueled.

Megatron sat back to watch, marveling. Despite all he had seen in his lifetime, the universe never ceased to amaze him. To think that two mortal foes could create something so perfect…

He shuttered his optics, suddenly troubled. Mortal foes… therein lay the entire problem. Despite his brief sojourn among the Decepticons as Orion Pax, Optimus was still the Prime, still the commander of the Autobots. And Megatron was still the commander of the Decepticons. They were as separate as night and day, neither bowing to the will of the other, eternally pitted against one another in their savage war. The sparkling could not belong to both of them – only one could raise her.

It tore his spark apart to admit it… but Megatron knew he could never be her father. If she were to live aboard the Nemesis, she would have no choice but to grow up a warrior, a soldier for the cause. She would know nothing but pain and fear her entire life, and she deserved better than that. Optimus would give her the life she deserved – a life where she could choose her own destiny.

He pushed himself to his feet. “Good luck, Optimus.”

Optimus had relaxed by now, optics half-shuttered in content, but he opened them to give Megatron a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“Good luck raising her.” He nodded at the sparkling. “You know as well as I do that we can’t raise her together. She deserves to stay with her carrier… and she deserves better than I as her sire. I will leave an emergency beacon atop the canyon wall so the Autobots can come pick you two up.”

Optimus’ optics flared as he realized what Megatron intended. “You can’t go.”

“I have no choice,” he replied, voice heavy with a regret he didn’t have to feign. “I wish it were otherwise, but it will only cause her grief to know that I am her father.” He managed a bit of a smile. “Know that I loved you, for however brief a time, and that I love her and always will. And… try to think of me kindly.”

With that, he turned to go, intent on putting as much distance between them as he could before he could change his mind. His optics burned with pent-up emotion, but he forced himself not to cry. He couldn’t be weak, not now… he was Megatron, leader of the Decepticons, and always would be… no matter how much he wanted to change that…

“Megatron!”

Optimus’ cry tugged at his spark, but he didn’t slow down or even turn around. If he turned to face Prime now, he’d never be able to leave…

“Megatron!” That cry was followed by another, this one less shrill but no less plaintive… the sparkling.

He halted in his tracks, clenching his fists, unable to stop the fluid from streaming down his face. Damn it all to the Pit, why did they have to make this so difficult? This was breaking his spark as it was…

Snarling in frustration and pain, he turned and strode back to Optimus’ side. How many times was he going to have to explain this to him?

Optimus had pushed himself upright by now, still holding the sparkling to his chest. She squirmed and wailed, but quieted down as Megatron laid a hand on her back, rubbing gently.

“You’re not making this any easier,” Megatron informed the two of them. “Optimus, you know this has to be done.”

Optimus met his gaze calmly. “You say I loved you… I want to believe that. I want to believe that this child was created in love. But… I want proof.”

Megatron gave a bitter laugh. “You ask the impossible. I have only my word to give you… and we both know my word is not reliable.”

Optimus wouldn’t be deterred. “You have your word… and your spark.”

His jaw dropped open. Was he implying…

“I need to know,” Optimus went on. “I have so few memories of my time as Orion Pax… and if what you say is true, that we loved each other, then I want to know for sure. My memory of that time is gone… but you still have yours.”

The enormity of what Optimus was proposing stunned him to the core. “Optimus… you know this cannot be reversed. If we are bonded… it will be for life. There can be no turning back.”

“I know.” He nodded solemnly. “And I accept that. Our daughter deserves both of her creators, not a sire and carrier constantly at war with one another. If there’s to be any hope for her… then we have to do this.”

Megatron could only nod in reply, too moved for words. He had been granted what he thought was impossible – a second chance. A chance to make things right. 

“When you first asked me to bond with you, I refused,” he confessed. “I would be a fool to turn you down a second time.”

Optimus’ expression softened, and for a moment he looked like Orion again. “Wait for her to fall asleep. Then… then we proceed.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: The previous chapter has been edited since it was posted (as of 09/05/13). It's strongly recommended you re-read that before proceeding.
> 
> Also if there are differences between Prime and Megatron's backstories in this fic and in the War For Cybertron games and prequel novels, my excuse is that I haven't played/read those and have only gone as far as checking the TF Wiki to make sure things don't contradict too much. This is an AU, I can take liberties...

Had Ratchet been human, he probably would have been tearing his hair out by now in sheer frustration. As it was, he paced the warehouse the Autobots now occupied, muttering to himself and clenching his fists. Every so often he would halt in his tracks and stare at the door, as if expecting Optimus to come walking in at that moment, but when nothing happened he would resume his pacing.

_What’s taking him so fraggin’ long? He should have been back hours ago, and I can’t even reach his radio… it can’t take that long to get there, beat the slag out of Megatron, and come back. Unless something’s happened to him… did Megatron kill him? Or whack him over the helm and drag him back to the Nemesis? Or worse, somehow convince him to go back of his own free will? I don’t want to think that Optimus would do that, but who knows anymore? The world stopped making sense a long time ago._

It was late evening now, hours since Ratchet had awakened the Autobots and led them to the shelter of this abandoned warehouse. The Autobots had complied, confused but willing to answer an order from their Prime. Now, however, they were all restless and worried, and growing more and more puzzled and disturbed by Ratchet’s behavior and the renewed absence of their leader.

“Doc-bot, hold your horsepower already,” Wheeljack advised. “You’re scarin’ people. What’s eatin’ you?”

Ratchet paused and swung his head around to glare at the Wrecker. “Nothing’s ‘eating me,’ as you put it. Mind your own business.”

“Okay, yikes, just a suggestion,” he countered, raising his hands. “Excuse a mech for trying to help.”

“He’s got a point, sir,” Smokescreen pointed out. “You’re making Bob nervous.”

Ratchet’s gaze moved to the Insecticon, who was curled in a tight ball in Smokescreen’s hands and shaking worriedly. He gave a deep sigh and went to sit down on a stack of crates. He doubted that was the only reason Bob was so skittish at the moment – he still looked up to Optimus as a father figure, and losing his parent yet again had to be frightening for him – but he was sure his restlessness wasn’t helping the sparkling any.

“Where is Optimus anyhow?” Arcee asked. “You haven’t been very forthcoming about all this.”

“Yeah,” Bulkhead agreed. “He’s been acting real funny since he got back. He’s still not back to normal.”

“Can you really expect him to be back to normal after what happened to him?” Ratchet demanded. “He went through horrible things at Megatron’s hands – you can’t expect him to get better overnight. He needs time.”

Bumblebee beeped in reply.

“I know, he’s had a month, but not all wounds heal in that short a time,” Ratchet replied. “Especially emotional wounds.”

“If he’s so emotionally wounded, why did you let him leave the base?” demanded Arcee. “You knew Optimus’ condition and yet you let him go off on his own! Where is he, and what’s going on here?”

Ratchet wanted to scream, to punch the wall, to break something in his anger and fear. He could actually feel the situation sliding out of his control, like watching a patient deactivate before his optics and not able to do a thing to stop it. It took all his strength to answer calmly, without raising his voice.

“I’m not at liberty to divulge that information,” was all he said. “All I can tell you is that it was important.”

“That’s not an answer-“ began Arcee.

“It’s the answer you’re getting, so be happy with it,” he snapped back. “I can’t say why he’s gone, but we just have to have faith that he’ll return soon. Until then, we remain here.”

Arcee glared, obviously unhappy with that answer, but she said nothing further and retreated to the back of the warehouse. Bulkhead and Wheeljack, likewise, seemed unsatisfied with that answer and returned to muttering quietly between themselves. Bumblebee and Smokescreen seemed to be appeased by Ratchet’s words and simply busied themselves with talking to Bob, coaxing him into uncurling and soothing him as best they could.

Ratchet turned to stare out the door, watching storm clouds gather in the distance. He wished he could believe his own words… but the longer Optimus remained absent, the more his hopes that he would ever return faded.

***

It had been hours since Megatron had departed the Nemesis, and in all that time Soundwave hadn’t budged from the groundbridge controls. Starscream was sure of this, because he’d kept Steve stationed close by the moment he’d seen their leader stalking down the halls in the communications officer’s company. Despite Megatron’s constant threats and his disastrous time as a free agent, he still craved power, and he wasn’t about to let a chance at the leadership slide through his claws if he could help it.

Finally he couldn’t stand the anticipation anymore, and he went to pay a visit to the control room himself. Steve still lurked by the door, wringing his claws nervously, and the Vehicon looked up with a start as the Air Commander approached, his Insecticon companion/bodyguard in tow.

“He still hasn’t moved, sir,” he reported. “Not a servo.”

“I told you not to call me sir,” Starscream corrected. “And you’re certain?”

Steve nodded. “He just keeps staring at where the ground bridge normally appears. It’s like he’s waiting for something.”

Starscream nodded and patted Steve’s shoulder. “Good work, my dear. Thank you.”

Steve nodded, struck mute with bliss at the contact. Even Softpaw following up the affection with a friendly, sloppy lick couldn’t dim his happiness. Starscream just smiled fondly to himself as he entered the control room. 

He was certain Soundwave heard his approach, but the slender jetformer didn’t acknowledge his presence or even twitch. Starscream’s smile morphed into a smirk as he moved to stand beside the silent mech, as if they were gazing out at a passing starscape together instead of staring at a wall. Such loyalty… and such stupidity. For being as brilliant as he supposedly was, Soundwave could be foolishly stubborn at times such as now.

“He’s not coming back, you know.”

Soundwave didn’t turn to face him, but replied anyhow. _REMARK UNCLEAR._

“Don’t play stupid with me, Soundwave. You and Megatron came in here together, and he hasn’t come back out. You’ve sent him somewhere and are waiting for him to contact you for a bridge back.” He let his smirk widen. “Don’t you think he would have contacted you by now if he was in any shape to do so?”

Soundwave’s visor flickered in annoyance. _MEGATRON WILL RETURN. MORE TIME REQUIRED. PLANS AT TREACHERY: NOT ADVISED._

“Who said anything about treachery?” asked Starscream, voice dripping innocence. “You wound me, Soundwave! I’ve learned my lesson since my exile. I simply would hate for Megatron’s absence to cause morale to drop among our troops. You know we can’t afford the sort of chaos and instability that would happen should any of the Decepticons learn we were suddenly leaderless.”

_MEGATRON WILL RETURN,_ Soundwave repeated. _CONCERNS INVALID. RETURN TO YOUR POST._

Soundwave arched an optic ridge. “So you’re taking charge in Megatron’s absence.”

_AS ORDERED BY MEGATRON. MY WORD IS FINAL. RETURN TO YOUR POST._

“Of course… as you command.” Starscream gave Soundwave one last speculative look before turning to leave. The communications officer looked frail enough at first glance, but looks could be deceiving… he was going to have to bide his time if he wanted another shot at the leadership. But he could be patient.

Soundwave didn’t seem to notice as Starscream, Steve, and Softpaw took their leave. He merely continued to wait, completely still, having total faith that Megatron would return sooner or later.

***

“She’s so small.”

Megatron couldn’t help a slight smile of amusement at that. “She was just born, Optimus. You weren’t expecting her to emerge fully grown, were you?”

“Not really,” he replied, his gaze never leaving the sparkling. “Still, I didn’t think she’d be this… tiny. This delicate.”

The femme seemed entirely unaware that she was the subject of their conversation – she slept soundly, curled up in the back of the cavern the three of them had taken shelter in. Megatron had hollowed out a bowl-shaped depression in the rock to serve as a sort of nest for her, which Optimus had lined with cleaning cloths from his subspace pocket. It seemed a crude substitute for a proper sparkling cradle, but she seemed perfectly content with the arrangement.

“She’s going to need a name,” Optimus noted. “We can’t just keep calling her ‘little one’ or ‘the sparkling’ forever.”

“Could we even agree on a name?” Megatron pointed out. “You’d probably want to name her after some ancient Prime or something else boring…”

“And you would want to name her after a gladiator, I’m sure,” Optimus replied without rancor. “Though you do have a point – she doesn’t exactly look like a Solus or a Zeta.”

“Nor does she look like a Razorclaw or a Bonecrusher,” Megatron acknowledged. “She needs something unique to herself… the question is what.”

The sparkling stirred, opening her mouth in a tiny yawn, then stilled again as she returned to slumber. If she was aware that her parents were discussing her, she gave no sign of it.

“She’ll wake up soon enough,” Optimus murmured. “If we’re going to do this… now’s the time.”

Megatron nodded, feeling his spark flicker in anticipation… and, he had to admit, a little nervousness. “Are you sure about this?”

Optimus hesitated. “No… but I see no other viable alternative. This is the only way to regain my memory in full. And… and if the sparkling is going to have any sort of a future… she needs parents who aren’t constantly at war with one another. I won’t tear our child apart simply to perpetuate our conflict.”

That wasn’t precisely the answer he’d hoped for, but he would accept it for now. “Then… show me your spark.”

Again the Autobot leader hesitated, biting his lower lip plate anxiously. The expression was so familiar to Megatron, so much like Orion, that his spark stirred in reaction. Despite the passing of years and the return of his memory, Orion was still alive inside Optimus Prime, if buried deeply… and for the first time it made Megatron wonder about his ancient foe’s past. What had happened to him to change him so drastically, making a grim, world-weary warrior out of an innocent, idealistic archivist?

Finally Optimus reached up, opening his chest plates. Blue-white light spilled from the gap in his armor as his spark lay bare, pulsing softly like an organic heart. His face was illuminated by the pale glow, giving it an otherworldly beauty.

In response Megatron reached for his own chest, unlocking the plates covering his own spark chamber. His spark didn’t shine with the same sort of light Optimus’ did – it glowed a fiery red-gold, shot through with sparks of amber and violet. There was something fierce, almost demonic, about the light it cast on his armor, about the pulse of its light in the dim cavern. 

Optimus’ optics flared, and for a moment Megatron wondered if the sight of his spark, aged and no doubt contaminated with Dark Energon, was enough to change the mech’s mind. But that wasn’t fear in his optics, but awe and even fascination.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered, raising a hand to lightly brush it against the spark chamber. The touch was gentle, yet it sent a shudder of reaction through Megatron’s chassis.

“Careful,” he murmured. “It’s… sensitive.”

Optimus nodded and withdrew his hand. “I think… I’m ready.”

Megatron reached up to clasp his hand, twining his claws with the younger mech’s fingers. His other hand rested on Optimus’ shoulder, and he used it to draw him close, bringing their chests within a hand’s breadth of one another. As if in reaction both their sparks began to flicker, pulsing faster, a wash of energy prickling over both their neural nets and activating every sensory node in their bodies. A tremor passed through Optimus’ body, and even Megatron couldn’t suppress a shiver of his own.

It was like bringing two magnets close together, but not close enough to touch. Megatron’s spark tugged in its casing, seeming to want to pull itself free of his body. It was as if his spark already knew that Optimus’ spark was the perfect match, and was eager to merge with it even if the mechs involved weren’t quite ready yet. Judging from Optimus’ sudden gasp and the brightening of his own spark, he, too, was experiencing the pull.

“R-ready?” He looked up from their sparks into Optimus’ optics.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Optimus replied.

His grip on the Prime’s shoulder tightened, and he drew him closer, letting their chests – and their sparks – touch.

Neither of them was prepared for the sudden rush of emotion that flooded their sparks at that moment – a kaleidoscope of pleasure, anger, fear, grief, wonder, joy, agony, the entire gamut. Images flashed in Megatron’s CPU, so many he couldn’t begin to process them all. Faces of mechs long dead, scenes from battles long past, fragments of events he had never witnessed, even snippets of text and data from a lifetime’s worth of perusing the archives… it was all too much, too fast, threatening to overwhelm him…

_Megatron!_ That was Optimus voice… but he hadn’t spoken aloud. It resounded in his CPU, words without sound. _It’s too much… there’s too much…_

_Can’t… process it all…_ Megatron replied, in the same speech-without-speaking that seemed to come instinctively now. _Turn it off… I’m going to lose myself…_

Optimus’ hand clamped onto his shoulder. _Ride it out… it… it won’t last long…_

_How do you know…_

_Read it… in the archives… long time ago…_ A pulse of emotion, almost like a rueful smile. _Where I learned most everything else…_

The initial rush of sensation and memory was overwhelming, almost brutal in its intensity… but it was blessedly brief as well, slowing to a trickle instead of a raging river, making him gasp in sheer relief. The connection was still there, though – an almost raw feeling of his mind and soul laid bare, naked and open to his partner’s view. His first impulse was to withdraw, to shield himself from Optimus’ scrutiny… there were ugly parts of his being that he wanted no one to view, least of all the mech he had once loved…

He resisted the urge, and kept himself open. They had come this far. There was no going back now.

Optimus reached out, tentatively touching Megatron’s mind with his own. He accepted the contact, and again a surge of memory and emotion flooded the two of them… but unlike the first, this one had structure and order, a logical series of events and feelings rather than the spontaneous chaos of the first. They were seeing a life… Optimus’ life, or rather Orion’s…

He saw Orion Pax as a sparkling, the son of senior archivists in the Hall of Records. The early memories were fleeting, mere images and impressions… clinging to the legs of his creators, following them through the “stacks” as they worked… then exploring the archives on his own, grabbing whatever datapad or book looked interesting and taking it back to his creators to be read aloud. Then fragments of text, and dawning comprehension as Orion began to read on his own, and to enjoy and even love it for himself…

Gradually, as the memories progressed from early sparkling-hood onward, they became more coherent and clear. He saw Orion becoming an archivist in his own right, a voracious reader and a bright student, willing to work hard and learn more as his job required. His life was a sheltered one, as he rarely left the archives and had few friends outside the Hall of Records, but he seemed content, blissful even…

_It was one of the few times in my life that I was truly happy,_ Optimus noted. There was no sadness in his tone, only a faint wistfulness. He missed those days, but had accepted they were gone for good.

_What happened?_ Megatron asked. _What changed?_

_I… well, you’ll see, I suppose…_

The images shifted as Orion progressed to adulthood, receiving an upgrade to his chassis at the appropriate time and making the shift from junior archivist to data clerk. His life within the archives remained largely the same… and yet outside the Halls the world was shifting, rumblings of discontent rising from the lower castes of Cybertronian society. Orion heard rumors of unrest, even of revolts among the worker class that were being violently put down by the nobles, but his own life went largely unaffected.

Unaffected, that was, save a correspondence he had begun with someone outside the archives – a gladiator by the name of Megatronus. It had begun simply as a research project, a way for Orion to fill in the gaps in an incomplete report on life in the gladiatorial arenas... but the messages back and forth had continued even when the report was complete. Megatronus had lived a hard but fascinating life of his own, and Orion was eager to learn more. And eventually the correspondence had evolved to meetings outside the archives and arena, the two of them talking and exploring the cities, enjoying the other’s company.

That friendship might have had a chance to progress into something more, had fate not had a cruel sense of humor. For the rumblings of discontent were quickly growing into a bellow of war… and when terrorist attacks rocked the planet, dividing Cybertronian-kind into two camps, Orion found himself cut off from his close friend. He hadn’t known at the time that Megatronus himself had orchestrated the attacks – indeed, Megatronus had insisted that those responsible for the destruction were not acting under his orders – but in the end, the results would drive them apart forever. 

Desperate to end the oilshed and corruption that threatened to destroy their homeworld, Orion and Megatronus went before the High Council, hoping to find a peaceful resolution to the war. It was there that Orion saw just how much of a monster his old friend had become, as Megatronus declared his intentions to cleanse Cybertron by fire and sword, eradicating the corrupt and all-powerful upper class and instating himself as the leader. Orion had tried to soften the blow with a speech of his own, declaring his hope that Cybertron could be restored without violence… and in the end Megatron had been cast out, and Orion found himself in the unwanted position of Prime and leader.

From then on, his life became a nightmare. For the Autobots didn’t want a pacifistic archivist as a leader – they wanted a warrior and statesman, a powerful and confident leader skilled with both weapon and speech. Orion Pax didn’t fit the mold, and so the Council selected mentors from among the older, more experienced Autobots to transform the shy, naïve archivist into their chosen hero… to transform Orion Pax into Optimus Prime.

The training had been brutal – not just physically demanding, but a grueling emotional ordeal. His mentors seemed to think that in order to make an effective leader of him they needed to toughen him up, to beat the innocence out of him and educate him in the ways of the “real” world. When he wasn’t enduring relentless weapons drills and combat classes, he was being dragged out to the front lines of the fighting, forced to watch as mechs were cut down, blown up, and violently offlined in various horrible ways. This was war, they told him, and he would be facing a great deal of it, so he had better learn not to flinch at the sight of it.

That hadn’t been the worst of it, though… not by a long shot. It wasn’t enough for his teachers to knock him around in sparring matches or force him to watch a live battle. They insulted him constantly, cursing his ineptitude, wondering aloud how Primus could have chosen such a weak and stupid mechanism to be their leader. And over and over they had told him that his life now belonged to the Autobots, that his every thought, his every action, was now to be in their service… 

_“That’s what it means to be a Prime, kid – your life no longer belongs to you. Anything you had before – goals, ambitions, loves or crushes, any dreams of a career or a family – that’s all gone for good. From this moment on you live for the cause only. Everything you do is for the greater good of your people, not for your own good. Every decision you make is in their best interests, not in yours. And don’t do it expecting a reward for your service, ‘cause it ain’t going to happen. The best reward you can expect is for them to remember you when you’re gone, and if you’re lucky they might put up a statue in your memory and remember all the good you did instead of your failures. It’s a raw deal, but get used to it.”_

It hadn’t been totally unbearable, he supposed. There had been some bright moments in that dark time. He had befriended Ratchet, the medic who fixed his dents after sparring matches and sat beside him at energon breaks, as if sensing he needed a friend. And while Megatronus had virtually vanished after that fiasco of a meeting with the Council, he still had a few friends from his time in the archives – most notably Elita-1, a fellow data clerk who visited him from time to time and brought him news of what everyone was up to now that he was gone. Spunky and mischievous, she had helped him laugh at times when he wanted to give up, and made his training a little more bearable.

It was ironic, then, that she had contributed to the final breaking of his spirit, and the end of Orion Pax.

That hadn’t been her intention – far from it. She had just wanted to help him laugh. And Ratchet had agreed that he sorely needed some humor in his life, seeing as his mentors seemed bound and determined to pound all kindness and happiness from his life. Their solution had been a rather public prank that had involved the three of them dropping a large bucket of multicolored paint from a balcony and onto the worst of his mentors… but how could any of them have known that two members of the Council would be accompanying said mentor at that exact moment?

The mentor in question had found Orion hours later in the lobby, reading, the prank a distant memory by now. And without a word of warning he had grabbed the younger mech’s chair and tipped it over, sending him sprawling to the floor. In full view of everyone in the lobby he had screamed at him, declaring him a disgrace to the Autobot name and to the legacy of the Primes. In no uncertain terms he had predicted that if he continued on this path, Cybertron would crumble under his reign, and he would go down in history as the worst mech to have ever held the Matrix.

The memory of that angry speech still stung… and Megatron found himself seething with hatred as he felt Optimus’ shame and pain. Worse still, the witnesses to this altercation did nothing but watch as his mentor finished up the hateful lecture and stormed out. They only stared in shock and confusion as Orion shakily got to his feet, picked up his datapads, and slunk out, trying to hold himself together until he got to his quarters.

_I never forgot his words. I let myself believe he was right, that it was my own fault that I was unable to save Cybertron, my failures that led to the ruin of our homeworld. I wanted so badly to prove him wrong, but…_ A feeling of helpless despair flowed through the forging bond. _Things were never the same after that. I stopped talking to Ratchet until he ended up under my command… and I never saw Elita again._

Megatron snarled in rage. _He was a fool. It was NOT your fault that Cybertron fell. It was those fools in the Council that drove our homeworld into the ground and ruined it…_

He had to stop there. He knew full well it wasn’t their doing, and so did Optimus… but neither of them was willing to admit yet that Megatron was responsible for the ruin of Cybertron.

The memories progressed a little more easily after that, though mostly because these were events Megatron was familiar with as well as Optimus. The wars that had ravaged their homeworld… the final corruption of Cybertron’s core that had forced them to evacuate the planet… the continuation of the war on Earth… and finally, the confrontation with Unicron that had shaken their lives forever…

The memories hit a snag there, a wall that prevented Optimus from going further. But Megatron stepped in at that moment, sharing the images of that time, hoping to prompt him to remember…

_It’s there,_ Optimus admitted. _But it’s vague… so hard to remember…_

_Try,_ Megatron urged. _It’s there, just hidden… you can find it again…_

Frustration seethed through their connection as Optimus struggled to break past the barrier, but to no avail. Whatever Ratchet had done to “fix” his memory, it was too strong for him to overcome alone… he was going to need help…

Megatron reached out, trying to lend Optimus his own strength to break the barrier… and inadvertently opened the floodgate to his own memory, his own past…

Fragments… images… a time he thought he had buried long ago… glimpses of the hovel in the worst slums of Cybertron that had been his childhood home… the briefest memory of his creators, the safety of his sire’s arms, the gentle touch of his carrier’s hand… 

Then a night of terror… mechs bursting into their home, shouts of rage and of fear… himself as a sparkling, cowering under a chair, shaking in terror… his carrier screaming her horror and anguish as large, rough hands yanked him out of hiding and hauled him, crying and squirming, out the door… his sire going down with a ragged hole in his chest…

Only much later would he learn exactly what had happened that terrible night. His creators, laborers in one of Cybertron’s factories, had owed a substantial debt to one of the noble class. And when they had been unable to pay, barely able to make ends meet themselves, said noble had taken their son as payment, selling him to a gladiator trainer to recoup the debt. He never saw his parents again, and he never learned their fates, though he suspected the worst.

From then on, his life became a brutal fight for survival. Every waking moment was spent learning how to kill creatures and fellow mechs in the arenas in various gruesome, flashy ways, all for the sport of the paying crowd. Sparklings barely old enough to walk were pitted against each other in practice sessions, forced to fight each other nearly to death in an effort to weed out the weakest of the pack. He quickly learned not to cry when a trainer knocked him to the ground or an opponent dealt a wound, for his tears gained him no sympathy.

At a time when most sparklings would just be getting their adult upgrades and deciding their functions for the rest of their lives, he was already fighting matches in the arena proper, pitted against wild animals, condemned convicts, and fellow gladiators. On an average day he would fight at least three matches, sometimes as many as six, and though not every fight ended in a death – whether the loser of a match was slain or not was determined by the will and whim of the crowd – more often than not he returned to his quarters at night covered in oil, energon, and other fluids. And he would retire to his bunk every night and struggle to stave off the nightmares, knowing that he would have to do it all over again the next day.

When he had been competing for a little less than a vorn, conditions went from bad to worse. For a new fad was rising among the decadent noble class… the desire to see losers not killed at the end of a match, but brutally humiliated. It was his luck to lose a particularly exhausting match soon after said fad started, and he had fully expected to be killed. Instead the victor, in response to the shouts and jeers of the crowd, had torn open his panel and brutally raped him, in full view of the cheering spectators.

He had known despair before… but that day, lying filthy and bleeding on the arena floor, had been the first time he wished he could die and end his suffering. Even now, vorns later, he shook with pain and rage at the memory.

_Primus… you never told me it was that bad._ Horror flowed from Optimus’ end of the connection. _I knew it was brutal, but not like that…_

_You were innocent even when I knew you. I didn’t think you could handle it… and I hoped to spare you that knowledge._

_Still, I could have done something to stop it…_

_You could have done nothing. The corruption was sown too deeply by that point._

Optimus shuddered. _And to think I accused you of violating me, when you… you…_

_Trust me, Optimus, there are many things I permit among my troops, but that is the one thing I will never condone. I may be guilty of many crimes, but rape is not one of them._

That had not been his last assault at the hands of a fellow gladiator… but as his prowess in battle grew he began winning more matches, and giving his opponents fewer opportunities to humiliate him. And when he found himself standing over a defeated opponent in the arena, and heard the crowd goading him to violate the loser, he refused to bow to their will. His defiance earned him a whipping at the hands of the arena master, but no punishment would make him put another being through what he had endured.

Had he caved to the desires of the crowd, he not only would have sunk to a level he swore he would never descend to, he would have lost one of his earliest allies. For in sparing his opponent – a sleek, tentacled mech named Soundwave – from that fate, he earned his respect and even friendship. And when the young gladiator had finally had enough of his lot in life and swore to do away with the corrupt powers that had consigned him to the arena, taking up the name of Megatronus and organizing followers among the gladiators and the working class for his cause, Soundwave was the first mech to join his crusade.

When a young data clerk named Orion Pax had contacted Megatronus, wanting information on the gladiator caste, his first instinct had been to recruit the archivist as an agent. It would have been beneficial to their cause to have optics inside the archives, and he could have been a handy source of information. But to his surprise, he found himself befriending the mech instead of using him. Orion represented the innocence he had lost long ago, and somehow he found that strangely compelling.

He had hoped that their friendship was strong enough to win Orion over to his side when the time finally came to confront the Council head-on. Orion, though somewhat naïve, was no fool, and surely once he saw how thoroughly decadent and morally bankrupt the ruling class of Cybertron was, he would join Megatronus and support his cause. But when he finally delivered his ultimatum to the Council, the only expression he saw on Orion’s faceplate was horror. And when the data clerk had countered his threat with his own speech, declaring that a solution could be found through peaceful means, the Council embraced him and ejected Megatronus from their presence.

Orion Pax would go on to become Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots… and Megatronus swore he would make Orion pay for his betrayal. 

_I never meant to betray you,_ Optimus confessed. _I only hoped we could achieve the same goal through different means. I wanted to make Cybertron a better place… and war wasn’t the answer._

_I see that now,_ Megatron realized. _I thought… you had usurped my cause for your own gain. That you wanted a position of power and saw my cause as the best way to obtain it._

_Far from it… I would have been happy to follow you, had I thought I could convince you to seek a peaceful solution. But… that wasn’t to be._

Understanding… clarity… for the first time in vorns, he understood Optimus’ intentions. So much oilshed and destruction could have been avoided, had he only known…

The memories continued to flow, of the war and its horrific aftermath, of the flight to Earth and the battles there… of the intrigues and infighting among the Decepticons, the endless quest to stamp out the Autobot forces once and for all… the fateful alliance to destroy Unicron before he could spell the doom for their kind… and the return of Orion Pax.

It was tempting to hold back, to show only the memories and feelings that would win Optimus back to his side. He had lost Orion once, and the pain had been far greater than he could have imagined. He wasn’t sure he could bear to lose him a second time.

_Don’t hold back,_ Optimus urged. _I’m stronger than you think – I can bear whatever you have to show me. And the bond can’t be completed if you hold back._

Megatron hesitated… then opened himself fully, letting Optimus see his time as Orion Pax from his own optics. He cringed at the thoughts and feelings of that time – his disdain for the data clerk, his smirking satisfaction at his naiveté and gullibility, his smug triumph at earning first his loyalty, and then his love. He had lied to him, used him, played with his feelings to keep him firmly at his side. At the time he had no regrets… but now, he loathed what he had done.

It had taken Orion offering to bond with him that first time to awaken him to the stunning realization – he, too, had fallen in love. And even then he had hurt him one last time, insulting him and threatening his life before his subordinate officers, sacrificing him to retain his position of power. In trying to save himself, he had destroyed one of his closest friendships.

_You were right all along, Optimus… I used you. Perhaps I didn’t take you by force, but I manipulated you and used you for my own ends, which is no better. For that… I am sorry._

And with that, he opened up the last of his spark to Optimus, pouring out his love for Orion and his regret at having betrayed him. He had never given of himself so selflessly before, and he felt that this wouldn’t begin to heal the rift between them… but no matter what happened after this, he wanted Optimus to know the entire truth, the good and the bad.

Optimus trembled under the flood of memory and emotion, his grip on Megatron tightening. He could feel the Prime taking everything in, drawing strength from his partner’s own mind and spark. With that final surge of strength he gave one last push at the block in his memory…

Both mechs felt the block come down, and Optimus cried out at the force of returning memory. Megatron felt a rush of emotion and images… gladness at seeing Megatronus again, horror at the state of Cybertron… the friendships he had forged among the Decepticons, and the fondness for their leader that had evolved into admiration, then love… his interludes with the Vehicons and the Insecticons, his night of passion with Knockout… then the tearing pain of betrayal, and the panic at finding himself a fugitive, chased by Autobot and Decepticon alike…

_I remember,_ he murmured, true joy in his voice for the first time. _I remember it all… I loved you… Megatron, I loved you…_

_And I you… only when I lost you did I realize how precious you had become to me. And I still love you… if you will allow me._

_I… I don’t want to hate you anymore. I don’t want the pain and anger that drove us to fight for so long, and brought so much destruction to our world and this one. Megatron… I love you. I see that now._

Megatron leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Optimus’ helm. _Optimus…_

_Orion,_ he corrected. _Please… say my real name…_

_Orion…_ Joy flooded his spark, echoed in his partner’s own soul. _I love you._

_And I you._

Orion opened himself fully to Megatron, holding nothing back, offering all that he was. Megatron accepted, offering himself as well, and for a brief, shining moment they were so closely bound that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. For a moment that was an eternity, they were one, united on a bond no force save death could sever.

When Megatron was finally aware of himself again, he was flat on his back on the cavern floor, Orion sprawled atop him. Their chests were still open, and the light of their sparks melded in a pale golden glow that seemed to illuminate the cavern. He felt tired, drained… and yet exhilarated as well, as if he had won a great victory just now.

Orion raised his head, optics dim with exhaustion, a dazed look on his faceplate. Megatron chuckled and sent a pulse of amusement along their bond. Orion responded with an embarrassed twinge, but managed a smile nonetheless.

“Megatronus…” he murmured.

“Orion,” Megatron replied, raising his hand to cup his face.

Orion nuzzled briefly into the touch, shuttering his optics. Then he pulled away, reaching up to shut his chestplate before closing Megatron’s chest for him. “If we’re going to make this work… we have a lot to talk about.”

“You have a way of killing a perfectly good moment,” Megatron told him, chuckling. “But you’re right. We do.”


	15. Chapter 15

The moment Ratchet spotted Arcee, Wheeljack, and Bulkhead huddled together, talking in secretive tones to one another, he knew there were going to be problems. Had it simply been Bulkhead and Arcee or Bulkhead and Wheeljack talking, he would have dismissed it… but Arcee didn’t get along well with Wheeljack, and made her dislike toward him no secret whenever they were assigned to work together on any task. The fact that she was willing to include him in whatever she and Bulkhead were cooking up was warning enough in the medic’s optics.

He supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised at this, though. It had been over twenty-four hours since Optimus had gone to confront Megatron, and they hadn’t even received a ping from him despite repeated attempts to reach him. The Autobots were getting restless, their complaints and demands for information becoming more and more vocal. Even Bumblebee, who normally had only the utmost faith in their commander, seemed antsy and unsettled, and kept shooting glances at Arcee and the two Wreckers as if hoping to be invited into their little group. Smokescreen seemed curious but nothing more… though Ratchet imagined it wouldn’t take much to convince the young hotshot to join whatever scheme they were concocting.

Ratchet took in a deep intake, then vented it out slowly before walking up to the group. Best get this over with, he figured.

“Something wrong?”

The three mechs glanced up at him, and Bulkhead immediately looked guilty, like a sparkling who’d been caught with his hand in the goodie jar. Wheeljack just flashed his usual cocky smile, while Arcee set her jaw in a determined expression.

“We’re leaving,” she said without preamble. “The three of us. We’re going to find Optimus.”

“No, you are not,” Ratchet replied firmly. “Optimus gave us strict orders to stay here until he returned. I’m not about to let you defy them.”

“Optimus wouldn’t have given that order without giving us a good reason,” Bulkhead pointed out. “Something rotten’s going on here, Ratchet, and unless you tell us, we’re heading out. We’re not gonna just sit here while something bad happens to Optimus!”

“Primus fraggit, can’t the three of you obey a direct order?” Ratchet demanded. “Optimus had his reasons for wanting to keep his mission a secret, and you’ve never had problems trusting him before.”

“Before, yes,” Arcee replied, “but he’s just spent months in the company of the Decepticons, thinking he was one of them. The game’s changed, and we want to be sure he’s not dead… or worse.”

“Worse?” Ratchet frowned. “If you’re implying that you think the Prime, of all mechs, would defect to the enemy…”

“He did once,” Wheeljack chimed in. “Who says he won’t do it again?”

Smokescreen stood, still holding Bob in his arms, and stepped up at that moment. “Ratchet, sir… I don’t want to disobey an order from the Prime… but I do kind of agree with these guys. Given everything that’s happened lately, don’t you think we’ve got a right to know what’s going on? Especially since Optimus hasn’t come back, and you seem pretty darn worried about him.”

Bumblebee beeped in agreement, stepping up to stand beside Smokescreen.

Ratchet glared at the gathered Autobots, irritation coursing through him. Of course they would all conspire against him. It seemed to be his fate whenever he had to take charge of their forces – constant dissension and rebellion. Even Bumblebee, who had never questioned his authority while Optimus had been gone, was siding against him.

Though he begrudgingly admitted that they did have a point – they had a right to know where their leader was, and whether he was in danger or not. If the unthinkable happened and Optimus died or defected as a result of this meeting, they at least deserved an explanation. That didn’t mean he was going to tell them the whole story… but at the very least he could give the immediate reason for Optimus’ departure. 

“Megatron delivered an ultimatum,” he said at last. “Meet him alone at a predetermined location, or he’d fire on the base.”

Optics flared in shock at that.

“And he went?” Bulkhead demanded. “It’s gotta be a trap! And how’d Megatron get our location anyhow?”

“We don’t know,” Ratchet replied. “It could have been a bluff, but Optimus didn’t want to take the chance. That’s why he ordered an evacuation of the base… and why he went out alone.”

“That settles it,” Arcee said in a steely tone. “We’ve got to go after him.”

“Arcee…” began Ratchet.

“Ratchet, if he’s hurt or in trouble, we have to be there for him!” she insisted. “We couldn’t be there for him before… let’s not let him down again.”

Ratchet wanted to argue, feeling that going out to help Optimus was a very bad idea. But in the end he sighed and relented. Even he had to admit that it had been too long, that Optimus wouldn’t have been absent this long unless something was very wrong. He’d failed the Prime before… and he’d be fragged if he let it happen again.

“I have coordinates for his and Megatron’s location,” he said at last. “It’s not far. We can drive there.”

Bumblebee gave a delighted squeal and transformed on the spot, revving his engine. Smokescreen, too, transformed, ready to go at a moment’s notice. Wheeljack and Bulkhead took a moment to check their weapons before folding into vehicle mode, while Arcee just gave Ratchet a long look.

“There’s something else you’re not telling us,” she accused.

“There is, but it’s for Optimus to tell, not me,” Ratchet informed her. “Don’t ask me about it again.”

She narrowed her optics, but nodded and transformed as well. Ratchet assumed his own vehicle form and led the others out of the warehouse, making for the road out of town and the coordinates Megatron had given.

_Please be all right, Optimus. If anything else happens to you after all you’ve been through, I’ll never forgive myself._

***

Soundwave had always been a remarkably patient mechanism. In his gladiator days, he was known not for his strength in the arena, but for his agility and stamina, his primary tactic being to dodge and evade his foe until they tired themselves out, then going in for the kill. And as a spy, he was willing to wait however long it took to gather the information he needed… or for his quarry to put themselves in the perfect position for annihilation. It had always been one of his greatest attributes, and had been one factor that had helped him secure his place among the upper echelons of the Decepticon forces.

But even he had his limits… and he had just about reached the end of his patience in waiting for Megatron when the door to the groundbridge room opened.

His visor hid his expression, but Soundwave still took the time to carefully compose his faceplate and body posture before turning to face Dreadwing and Starscream. Emotions weren’t always fully hidden by a mask, after all, and he wasn’t about to give the treacherous Air Commander any sort of means to push his buttons. For all his loyalty to Megatron, he wasn’t about to let himself succumb to his commander’s primary flaw – letting his emotions get the better of him.

_UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY. GROUNDBRIDGE CONTROL ROOM RESTRICTED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE._

“Where is Lord Megatron?” Dreadwing demanded, ignoring the order.

Soundwave didn’t so much as flinch at the question, though privately he dreaded answering it, especially in front of Starscream. _LOCATION: CLASSIFIED._

“He’s dead,” Starscream retorted. “Can’t the two of you see it? He’s gone and hasn’t come back – obviously he’s not even capable of coming back. That fool Orion Pax softened him too much, weakened him, and it led to his destruction.”

Dreadwing glowered at the silver jetformer. “Megatron is not so easily dispatched as you make him out to be… but I am in partial agreement with you. Given how strangely Megatron has been acting as of late, it’s all too possible that his emotional state has clouded his judgment, and he’s made a grievous error. One that has prevented him from coming back to the Nemesis.”

 _CONJECTURE,_ Soundwave replied calmly. _MEGATRON WILL RETURN._

“You keep saying that,” Starscream sneered, “but he hasn’t returned. The Decepticons grow restless, Soundwave… do you really want them to start rioting or deserting on you? If you want to spend the next vorn in here rusting away, pining for our dear leader, be my guest… but then I’m taking charge of the Decepticons.”

_UNACCEPTABLE. MEGATRON NAMED ME HIS SUCCESSOR._

“Well, it’s not as if he’s here to enforce his command, is he?” Starscream asked, grinning smugly.

Soundwave drew in a deep intake, then let it out slowly, suppressing the urge to sigh deeply or, worse, lash out at the smug-faced flier. Starscream was forcing his hand, then, setting him up to either admit Megatron was out of commission or allow Starscream to take over as leader. Neither option was desirable, but he was forced to admit that of the two, the latter was the least conducive to the continued success of the Decepticon cause. The Air Commander would lead the Decepticons to ruin if given free reign, and they had all fought too long and sacrificed too much to let the cause crumble under the rule of an incompetent leader.

He would have to step in and fill Megatron’s role… and hope his leader would forgive him if – _when_ he returned. At this point, it was the lesser of two evils.

 _MEGATRON UNABLE TO ENFORCE COMMAND… BUT SOUNDWAVE FULLY CAPABLE OF DEFENDING NEW POSITION._ He squared back his shoulders and drew himself up to his full, if unimpressive, height. _SOUNDWAVE: SUPERIOR. NEW LEADER OF DECEPTICONS._

Dreadwing actually smiled at that, while Starscream’s faceplate crumpled as if he’d just bitten into something sour. But the Air Commander knew better than to argue, and simply nodded in reply.

“What do you command of us, Lord Soundwave?” Dreadwing asked. “What is our first course of action?”

That, Soundwave didn’t know. But he was spared having to answer by a Vehicon skidding into the room, visor bright with excitement.

“Starscream, sir! The Autobots are on the move, out in the Nevada desert! Looks like all of them, we can take them out all at once… um, am I interrupting something?”

Soundwave’s visor flashed in surprise… and dread. It couldn’t be... _COORDINATES REQUESTED, STEVE._

Steve delivered the location, confirming Soundwave’s suspicions. So the Autobots knew where Prime and Megatron’s confrontation was taking place, and were moving out to take advantage of the situation. Though this did present a unique opportunity – not only to crush the Autobots once and for all, but to check on Megatron and ensure he was still alive and well. Perhaps this would work to their advantage after all.

_DECEPTICONS PREPARE TO MOVE OUT. DREADWING, LEAD OUR AERIAL FORCES. STARSCREAM, LEAD GROUND FORCES._

Starscream sputtered. “I’m the Decepticon Air Commander! You can’t relegate me to ground work!”

_RAPPORT ESTABLISHED WITH VEHICONS AND INSECTICONS ESSENTIAL TO LEADING GROUND FORCES. RELATIONS WITH MECHANISMS KNOWN AS “STEVE” AND “SOFTPAW” MAKE YOU IDEAL FOR THIS. DO NOT QUESTION ORDERS AGAIN._

Starscream grumbled a bit, but Steve laid a hand on his arm, and he seemed to relax and relent at that. “Fine… but I’m not going to forget this.” He stalked out with Steve still hanging onto his arm.

Soundwave followed close behind Starscream, Dreadwing falling in step at his side. They would find Megatron… and they would eliminate the stain the Autobots had left upon this world once and for all. He wouldn’t let himself consider a possible failure. They had to succeed at this, no matter the cost.

***

Orion stirred awake, rebooting his optics in befuddlement. He wasn’t in his berth… and this didn’t seem to be the Autobot base. Some small part of his CPU wanted to come online fighting, but the rest of it was still foggy with sleep and struggling to process his surroundings.

A squirming movement against his chest brought memory back, and he relaxed and carefully cradled the sparkling, making soothing noises to her. Cascade had fallen asleep in his arms… and he, in turn, had drifted into recharge in Megatron’s arms. The silver mech was still deeply offline, curled protectively around his bondmate and child, a rare peaceful expression on his faceplate.

He still wasn’t entirely sure how they had finally decided on the name Cascade. They had gone through and rejected several different possibilities – Elita, Chromia, Stryka, Moonracer, Slipstream, and Fracture had all been suggested and eventually shot down. He still wasn’t sure which of them had suggested Cascade, but both had liked the sound of it. The fact that the sparkling had responded favorably to it, perking up at the mention of it and squealing excitedly, had sealed the deal, and Cascade it was.

The sparkling’s name had been far from the only thing the two of them had spent the day discussing, however. They now had a future to plan – for their daughter, for their bond, and most of all for the future of their kind. Megatron, surprisingly, had suggested forgetting that last altogether, and striking off on their own to forge their own destiny.

“Our kind has reached the point of no return,” Megatron had argued. “Our world is gone, our kind spends the last dregs of its energy trying to annihilate itself, the relics that meant the restoration of our world have vanished. But we can live on… we can forge our own path, anywhere in the galaxy. Our future – and Cascade’s future – is ours to decide.”

Orion wouldn’t lie – that option was tempting. But in the end, he had disagreed.

“We cannot simply run from the problems of our race, Megatron. We created this mess – both of us – by being unwilling to change or cooperate. We have to stay, and find a way to repair what has been damaged. And I am the Prime… I cannot abandon my duties to the Autobots. Or to Cybertron.”

“You never wanted to be Prime,” Megatron had countered. “The title has brought you nothing but grief and pain. Why would you want to keep it?”

“Because if the Matrix has chosen me, it must have a reason. I may have failed Cybertron once… but I won’t abandon it when it needs me most. I choose to stay, and to set right what has gone wrong.”

Megatron had scowled at that, but relented. “Very well… but if we are to restore Cybertron, we’re doing it RIGHT. If things are to improve, they must change.”

“You’re meaning the Old Order, I presume?”

“If you can even call it an Order. That system was hopelessly broken, dividing Cybertron into castes and granting the highest class unlimited power. And unlimited power, inevitably, leads to corruption. I know.” A shadow had crossed his optics then, and Orion wondered at that – Megatron had never shown remorse for his war crimes before. Had the bond really changed him that much?

“If Cybertron is to thrive, it needs unity,” Megatron had continued. “And above all, it needs freedom. Mechs should be able to choose their own destinies, not have them decided for them.”

“Agreed. Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, and not a chosen few. We need a Council – one containing mechs from every walk of life, and not just a few select nobles. We need decisions that will benefit every Cybertronian and not simply those with the deepest pockets or the most powerful influence. And we need to abolish the gladiator arena…”

“No. Do not abolish the arena.”

“But that was the source of all your pain... and who knows how many other mechanisms have been killed, tortured, and violated there. I won’t see innocent lives broken just to satisfy the sadistic whims of a paying audience.”

Megatron had shaken his head. “The gladiator arenas were as corrupt as the rest of Cybertron… but corruption can be cleansed. Let them continue, but let there be rules in place to keep the system from being abused. Many Decepticons will still have violent, aggressive tendencies even if we establish peace between our factions. They will need an outlet for their aggression, and unless Cybertron goes to war in the near future, they WILL start a war simply to satisfy their urges. The arena is the best place for them… so long as there are controls in place.”

That had left a bad taste in Orion’s mouth – if the previous Council was to be believed, the gladiator arenas had been the source of the rebellion that had started this war in the first place. Then again, he had to consider the source – the Council had been every bit as selfish, corrupt, and self-serving as the inhabitants of the arenas, and while the rebellion might have originated in the arenas, the cause for the rebellion had come from much higher places. And Megatron did have a point – better an aggressive mech prove his mettle in a controlled environment such as the arena, than take his frustration out on the general populace.

“Very well… but I leave the restructuring of the arenas to you. You are far more familiar with that world than I am, and know what needs to be done to fix it.”

That had pleased Megatron… as had Prime’s second offer.

“There is a position that has long gone unfilled among Cybertronian-kind… that of Lord High Protector. A mechanism whose duty it was to protect the Prime, and to serve as a leader in all things relating to war, military, and the like. I do not know why previous Primes have elected to leave that position empty, but perhaps it would do us well to fill it once again. Megatron… will you accept it?”

Megatron had pretended to consider for a long moment. “A position of power second only to yours, where I can constantly be by your side and serve as your devil’s advocate? Exactly what is the down side here? Yes… yes, I accept.”

Those had been the easy solutions, at least – there had been so much else to discuss, and they still disagreed on many points. Orion knew it would be a long time, perhaps years, before they had resolved everything to both their satisfactions, and even then he doubted all the surviving Cybertronians would agree with their decisions. There was still so much damage to repair, a ruined homeworld to restore, and the amount of work it would take to make things right was staggering.

But for the first time, he felt hope – hope that things would work out. There was an end to the war in sight, and with any luck he would be alive to see it. And above all, Cascade had a chance of growing up on a peaceful Cybertron. Perhaps it was too late for the current generation to see Cybertron totally restored and at peace, but at least Cascade’s generation would have a chance.

Cascade jolted awake as an ominous roar filled the canyon, and she stared up at Orion with wide, terrified optics, whimpering and fussing. He quietly shushed her and held her to his chest, doing his best to console her, but she continued to make distressed noises. Behind him, he could feel Megatron tense as he, too, awakened, every cable and servo in his body tightening in preparation to defend himself and his sparkling.

“That wasn’t a natural occurrence,” Megatron rumbled, hand tightening protectively on Orion’s shoulder. “That sounded like a missile impact.”

“How can you be sure-“ began Orion, but the hiss and snap of laser fire cut off the rest of his sentence. More explosions shook the canyon, and he realized the awful truth – the Autobots and Decepticons had tracked them here, and they had attacked each other on sight.

“We have to end this,” he said firmly, and wriggled free of Megatron’s arms to push himself to his feet.

“I’ll end this,” Megatron insisted. “Stay here with Cascade. I’ll call my troops off and order a ceasefire.”

“That won’t do any good,” Orion insisted. “The Decepticons may listen to you, but not the Autobots. And if I know a few of them, they’ll continue the fight regardless of a ceasefire. If we’re to stop the fighting… we have to do it together.”

Megatron’s gaze moved to the sparkling, and his optics flared with concern. “What about her? You can’t possibly expect to take her out on the battlefield!”

“I don’t want to... but I don’t dare leave her here either, where someone could find her and possibly hurt or abduct her. But I know the Autobots, and they won’t dare fire on a mech carrying a sparkling. And if I remember correctly… most of the Decepticons won’t stoop that low either.”

“Most… but not all,” Megatron replied. He bared his fangs in an irritated grimace, but finally relented. “Very well… but the first mech to lay hands on either of you without my consent will find himself without hands.”

Had circumstances not been so dire, Orion might have laughed at that statement. Even as a loving bondmate and father, Megatron was still Megatron.

“Let’s go,” Orion ordered. “We have to end this, and end it now.”

***

The first hint Ratchet got that the Decepticons had found them was the road before them shattering in a horrific explosion, raining dirt and chunks of asphalt down on his plating. He swerved wildly, trying to avoid the sudden pit in the road, only for laser fire to pepper the ground around him. Arcee and Bumblebee veered away from the gaping crater, while Smokescreen and Wheeljack simply transformed and dug in their heels to skid to a halt on the very edge. Bulkhead, too, transformed, but was unable to stop himself in time and fell right into the pit, cursing virulently.

Ratchet barely had time to transform himself before a blast struck the ground just to his side, sending him toppling. By the time he got to his feet again, the desert had become a battlefield, Vehicons and Insecticons swarming the landscape and a wickedly familiar blue jet raining destruction from above. Not far away, Breakdown transformed and leaped into the crater to engage Bulkhead one on one, while Starscream exchanged fire with Arcee. Wheeljack drew his swords as Dreadwing landed before him, his own saber drawn and his scarlet optics ablaze with hatred, and Bumblebee charged Soundwave with an angry buzz of a roar, only for the slender jetformer to sidestep him easily. Smokescreen plowed into the thick of the Vehicons and began punching and kicking, laughing in exhilaration at finally seeing action. What had begun as a simple quest to find Optimus had become full-on war.

_By the Allspark… have we gotten here too late? Or was this a trap all along? Did Megatron’s troops destroy Optimus already, and lure us here to wipe us out?_

“Do close your mouth, good Doctor,” a smooth, haughty voice advised. “You’ll swallow flies if you’re not careful.”

Ratchet turned to face Knockout, drawing his blades, scowling furiously. In marked contrast Knockout strode up with a hip-swaying walk that could only be called seductive, a delighted smirk on his faceplate, casually spinning his energon prod in one hand as if it were a cane. His gaze swept up and down the white medic, sizing him up – as an opponent or as a potential conquest, who could say? – before widening his smirk to a nasty grin.

“It’s such a shame Orion left us for you,” he remarked. “I never even got to say goodbye. Or properly thank him for the good times we shared.”

“Optimus Prime is not your plaything, Knockout,” Ratchet snarled, crouching in a battle stance. “And for everything you and your kind did to him, I swear I’ll destroy you!”

“Promises, promises,” Knockout taunted, and struck with the speed and grace of a leaping panther. Ratchet barely knocked his staff away in time, and his attempt to counter with a stab of his own was gracefully evaded. Before he could back away to gather himself for another strike, Knockout struck again, and Ratchet screamed as the red mech’s claws sliced into his faceplates, leaving a set of deep gashes across his face.

“Doctor vs. Doctor,” Knockout chuckled. “Fitting, don’t you say?”

“Enjoy it while you can,” Ratchet snapped. “If I have anything to say about it, you don’t get to play doctor ever again.” He stabbed forward, and this time the blade nicked Knockout’s armguard. The medic hissed in anger at the ugly scratch the weapon left in his paint, but the hiss morphed into a frightening grin.

“You forget, Ratchet,” Knockout said in a deadly purr, “that when I play doctor… I play to win.” And he charged again.

Ratchet was not a fighter, and he knew it. It should have been newbuilt’s play to terminate him within seconds. But Knockout didn’t strike a death blow, merely danced around the bulkier mech, staying just out of reach of his swords and fists and darting in occasionally to jab him lightly with the business end of his staff or leave a set of claw marks in his paint. The scarlet medic was toying with him, taking advantage of the battle as an excuse to use Ratchet as a plaything.

 _Just like Megatron used Optimus…_ The thought sent fresh rage coursing through his system, and with a roar he lunged just as Knockout ducked in to swat him across the helm. He had one glimpse of the carformer’s face, blank with shock, before the two went tumbling helm-over-foot across the dry ground.

When they finally came to rest Knockout was on top, but Ratchet quickly flipped the medic onto his back and moved to pin him. Knockout stared up at him, stunned at his sudden defeat, and a brief flash of terror crossed his faceplate before he managed to cover it with a sheepish grin.

“Best two out of three?” he offered.

“No,” Ratchet snarled. “Game over.” And he raised his blade, ready to take this mad doctor down once and for all.

“RATCHET!”

The medic froze, blade halting just a handspan from Knockout’s chestplate. Both mechs turned to face the speaker, Ratchet’s spark flaring with hope… and Knockout somehow looking equally elated.

“Autobots, cease fire!” Optimus Prime shouted, hauling himself out of a nearby gorge. His armor was dusty and he seemed a little shaky on his feet, but to Ratchet’s relief he looked unharmed. He seemed to be holding his right arm oddly, though, crooked against his chest like a human arm held in a sling, but before he could get a closer look another form rose from the gorge… and his spark sputtered in his chest.

“Decepticons!” Megatron snarled. “Hold your fire!”

“What?” Starscream whirled toward Megatron, optics bright with shock. “You’re supposed to be dead! I mean, I thought you were de-“ Before he could finish his sentence a blast struck him between the shoulders, sending him sprawling with a yelp of dismay.

“Arcee, stand down!” Optimus barked, leveling a stern glower at the motorcycle-former.

Arcee glared back unrepentantly. “Optimus, you can’t possibly mean this! We’re doing this in self-defense – if we don’t fight, we die! It’s that simple!”

“I said stand down!” Optimus retorted. “All Autobots! Now!”

“Decepticons, hold your fire!” Megatron repeated. “That is an order!”

The fighting gradually petered out as word of the ceasefire spread. Vehicons and Insecticons lowered their weapons, some stooping to collect their wounded, others simply turning to stare at their leader in confusion. Bulkhead had Breakdown in a headlock nearby, but released him so suddenly the blue mech fell flat on his aft. Wheeljack and Dreadwing gave each other distrustful looks but lowered their swords, though they didn’t sheathe them, and Bee skidded to a halt just a few feet from Soundwave, stopping himself from tackling the mech just in time. Starscream pushed himself to his feet, grumbling irritably and twitching his scorched wings.

Ratchet slowly moved his own blade away from Knockout’s chest, stepping back to allow the mech to get to his feet. He wasn’t about to lower his guard, though – just because he was following his commander’s orders didn’t mean Knockout felt the same way toward HIS commander.

“You ruined my paint job,” Knockout grumbled. “You owe me for this, Autobot…”

“This ends now,” Optimus went on, cutting off Knockout before he could complain any further. “There is to be no more fighting. Not now… not ever.”

Ratchet rebooted his optics, stunned. What was he saying? No more war? That was a hopeless dream – so long as the Decepticons remained functioning, the war would never end. Right?

“You can’t be serious,” Starscream sneered, echoing Ratchet’s thoughts. “We haven’t even finished mopping up this Autobot stain on the planet!”

Megatron glared at Starscream. “He is serious, Starscream… and I echo his sentiment. This war has gone on for too long, and has left our world in ruins. It will consume our kind if we don’t end it now, and come to a resolution that will benefit all our kind and not a select few.”

Starscream sputtered incoherently. Ratchet couldn’t exactly blame him – those words should not be coming from Megatron’s vocalizer. This was the mech who had declared himself a conqueror, corrupted and destroyed their homeworld, and threatened to do the same to Earth. This had to be a trick… though why Optimus was in on it he could only speculate. Surely Megatron couldn’t have turned him back to his side already… unless he’d reverted to his mindset as Orion already, which was entirely possible.

“It’s a trick!” Arcee shouted. “Optimus, whatever deal he’s made with you, it’s a trap!”

Optimus shook his head. “It’s not a trick, Arcee. We have come to the conclusion that the war needs to end as soon as possible, for the sake of our kind. If we are to have any hope of healing and rebuilding our world, we need to end this pointless conflict.”

“Pointless?” Dreadwing snarled. “Is it pointless to want justice for the crimes the Autobot nobles wreaked on our people? For the death and destruction they’ve brought down upon our kind? Don’t make yourselves innocents in this war of yours, Optimus Prime – you’re as guilty as we are!”

“I have never claimed our kind to be innocent,” Optimus replied. “The blame for this war cannot be laid on one mechanism. But just as it took many to ignite the flames of war… so it will take all of us to extinguish them once and for all.”

“Why should we?” demanded Wheeljack. “The ‘Cons ain’t gonna just roll over and accept a peace deal! They’re never gonna end this war, not willingly! The only way to ensure peace is to wipe ‘em all out!”

“The only way to end it for good is to wipe YOUR kind out!” Breakdown retorted. “You Autobot snobs started this war! And we’re gonna finish it!”

“No one finishes this!” Megatron roared. “It ends! Now!”

Ratchet opened his mouth, determined to speak his own peace – to remind Optimus that the Decepticons, especially Megatron, had hurt him in ways that could never be fully healed. But before he could get a word out, a high wail filled the air, causing every mech present to freeze in recognition. None of them had heard that sound in so long…

“It can’t be,” Knockout murmured, optics flickering in shock. “It just can’t…”

Ratchet knew full well what it was… and only now did he spot the tiny mechanism in Optimus’ right arm, its dark armor making it hard to spot against the windshields on his chest. His spark plummeted, and he wished desperately that the sparkling had waited just a little longer to be born. Now Optimus’ secret was out, and both the Autobots and their mortal foes would know just what Megatron had done to him. This would be a blow the Autobot forces might never recover from.

Optimus seemed unconcerned with what the gathered mechs thought, and carefully cradled the sparkling in his arms, crooning softly to it. Its cries softened, but it continued to fuss, tiny clawed hands grabbing at his fingers as if seeking something to cling to. Megatron’s gaze turned toward the child, and to Ratchet’s dumbfoundment he actually smiled fondly. The warlord knew the child was his, then… this was worse than he could have possibly imagined.

“You have got to be kidding me,” murmured Bulkhead.

“No way,” Smokescreen breathed. “Megatron got Optimus with spark while he was with them?”

Bee gave a squeal – but to Ratchet’s surprise, it was a cry of delight, not of horror. Given that he’d been positively delighted with Bob’s presence in the Autobot base, Ratchet supposed he wasn’t too surprised.

“This,” Megatron declared, nodding at the sparkling. “This is the very reason the war ends today. This is the reason why we MUST lay aside our differences and cooperate to rebuild our homeworld. Our petty squabbles and damned idealistic crusades have left a wreck for this sparkling, and the rest of her generation, to inherit. We have doomed them from the very start… unless we work together to fix it.”

Optimus waited until the sparkling had quieted and settled down before adding his own piece. “It is not too late to set things right. We can set things right, and ensure the next generation of Cybertronians can return home. But it will entail all of us dropping old grudges and hatreds, and joining forces to restore our homeworld. Megatron and I have elected to let go of old hatreds and work together to mend our home and its governing system. I would suggest everyone else do the same.”

“And if we don’t accept your terms?” demanded Dreadwing. “I’m not about to forgive or forget what was done to my brother… and I refuse to work alongside those responsible for his death.”

“And I’m not about to join up with the mechs who killed Tailgate and Cliffjumper,” Arcee added, scowling. “This is madness – they’ll double-cross us at the first opportunity. We’d be fools to trust them.”

Optimus’ optics clouded in disappointment. “I know you two have been hurt… but if you continue to hold hatred in your sparks, it will poison you. If you can let go of your hatred and help us, I promise you that you will begin to heal.”

“We will not force you to join our cause,” Megatron told them. “However, know this – if you attempt to harm anyone who has dedicated themselves to restoring Cybertron, then we WILL come after you. We have no desire to reignite the war, but we can and WILL act to defend ourselves if necessary.” His gaze moved to sweep over the gathered mechs. “The choice is yours – perpetuate this conflict until it drives our kind to extinction, or end it now, and give us a chance of returning home.”

Silence reigned. No one dared as much as cycle a fan out of turn. Even Bob, still secure in Bulkhead’s interior, and Optimus’ sparkling, calmly sucking on the end of her carrier’s index finger, were surprisingly silent.

Then a single Vehicon stepped forward, saluting with a clawed hand. “I’m in, sirs. I gotta admit… all I’ve ever known is war and fighting. It’s what I was built for, after all. But… but Orion’s never steered me or my buddies wrong, and I trust him. And if he says this is what’s best for us… then I’m inclined to agree with him.”

Optimus smiled at the smaller mech. “Your support is very gratifying, Mike… thank you.”

Wheeljack shot Ratchet an incredulous look and mouthed “Mike?” Ratchet just shrugged. Right now, a Vehicon bearing a human name was the least shocking thing about this whole mess.

“I’m in too,” another Vehicon chimed in. “Never let it be said that Jose turned down a chance at peace, right?”

“Count me in too,” yet another Vehicon added.

“Steve!” Starscream yowled. “Don’t tell me you buy into this nonsense!”

“Steve” turned to regard the Air Commander calmly. “I want a future, sir… and this seems to be our best chance at one.” He held a hand out to the Seeker. “Please, sir… Starscream… if we’re going to have a future together, this is the best way.” 

Starscream regarded the Vehicon a moment, his gaze surprisingly thoughtful. Then he looked up at Megatron, frowning as he considered. Megatron gazed back, his own expression hardening a touch as if he expected difficulties.

“Fine,” he relented. “We join their cause… for now.” And he stepped up to join Steve.

Something shoved past Ratchet with enough force to nearly knock him over, and an Insecticon sidled up to join Starscream and Steve, gurgling happily. Starscream patted its shoulder, an oddly fond expression on his faceplate, and it nuzzled against him happily. That was hardly the only Insecticon throwing their lot in with Optimus and Megatron – several others joined in, chittering and barking at one another, some even approaching Optimus as if to welcome him back.

Ratchet shook his head. Just what had gone on in the past twenty-four hours?

“Hey, count me in too,” Smokescreen chimed in, jogging up to join the gathering cluster of Vehicons and Insecticons. 

“Smokescreen, you can’t be serious!” Arcee snapped.

“Arcee, I know you don’t like the kid,” Bulkhead told her, “but he’s got the right idea, I think. We’ve been fighting this war so long we’ve forgotten why we’re even fighting. And I dunno about anyone else, but I’m sick and tired of it. This ain’t the end I pictured us having… but it’s good enough for me.”

Wheeljack smirked. “Never pegged you the type to quit on the fight, Bulkhead. Wreckers aren’t supposed to quit.”

“I wouldn’t call it quitting,” Bulkhead quipped. “More like early retirement.”

Wheeljack shrugged. “Dunno how well I like the sound of retirement… but somebody’s gotta guard your back, and it might as well be me.” He patted Bulkhead’s arm, and the two Wreckers moved to join the growing group.

Soundwave cocked his head, seeming to ponder what was going on… then nodded, coming to a decision, and strode up to Megatron’s side. Megatron reached out to rest a hand on the mech’s shoulder, welcoming him into their alliance.

Ratchet shook his head. This was actually happening. Somehow, impossibly, Optimus and Megatron had brought an end to the war – and a peaceful resolution no less. His CPU reeled at this, demanding to know how, why, what had brought this about, how did Optimus suddenly know the names of the Vehicons, and so much more.

But inside, his spark sang with relief. It was over… and they had won. Not the victory they had imagined, but somehow it still seemed the best possible victory – one without further oilshed and violence. There was still a lot of hard work ahead of them… but at least there was hope for their future, and the future of Cybertron. That meant far more to him than petty revenge… and if Optimus could let go of his anger toward Megatron for the greater good of their homeworld, then perhaps it was time for him to do so as well.

“Optimus… count me in as well.” And he walked up to stand beside Smokescreen.

Optimus smiled, optics shining with emotion. “That means more to me than you can know, Ratchet.”

“I have a lot of questions,” he went on, gaze moving to the sparkling. “But I suppose that can wait…”

“Why wait?” asked Optimus. “You deserve to know what happened.”

“In front of all these mechs?” Ratchet demanded, looking over at their sudden audience. An audience that was growing by the minute – just now Bumblebee had scurried up to join Smokescreen, while Knockout and Breakdown walked up to throw their lot in. Only Arcee, Dreadwing, and a handful of Vehicons and Insecticons remained aloof, and even some of them were muttering amongst themselves as if trying to make up their minds.

“I believe they’re a little preoccupied at the moment,” Optimus noted. “And you, of all mechs, deserve to know the entire story.”

“I have a feeling this is going to be a lot to swallow,” Ratchet muttered. “But you’re right. I need to know what happened.”

A high-pitched squeal cut off Optimus’ reply, and he glanced down to see the sparkling, a black-and-blue femme, regarding him with great interest. The moment she felt she had his attention she reached toward him, making soft urgent noises.

“All right, all right, little one,” Optimus laughed, and transferred her to Ratchet’s arms. “This is Cascade, Ratchet. I believe she’s overdue for her first checkup.”

“A femme,” Ratchet murmured, holding her to his chest as he reached into subspace for a scanner. “She’s beautiful, Optimus. I’ll need to do a complete scan, but I think I can safely say she’s perfectly healthy, if a bit small.”

Optimus relaxed at that. “Good. Megatron and I were both concerned.”

Ratchet frowned. “It’s still so hard to believe Megatron would care for her, sir… he’s not known for his empathy.”

“A lifetime in the gladiator arenas has that effect on a mech,” Optimus noted. “But apparently it’s a skill that can be relearned… for which I’m grateful.”

“I have a feeling that’s part of your story.”

“Indeed.” He put a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder, leading him a short distance from the others. “It starts with the battle against Unicron… or rather, with its aftermath…”


	16. Chapter 16

“All right, done with you,” Ratchet sighed, setting down his scanner. “Get out. Send in the next on your way out.”

“Yessir.” The Vehicon – Elvis, if he was remembering the name right – hopped down from the berth and scurried out. “Hey Charlie, you’re up!”

Ratchet groaned and reached up to rub the bridge of his olfactory sensor. “Just how many Vehicons are there?”

“At last count, Megatron had about forty-three remaining,” Knockout replied. “Then there’s the Insecticons to take into account. It’s impossible to get a full count of those things, they keep reproducing while we’re not looking.”

“Oh, that’s just slagging great,” Ratchet muttered. He was beginning to regret his insistence that every Decepticon submit to a medical scan before being allowed in the Autobot base. At the time it had seemed like a good idea – one mech with a virus could potentially infect an entire army, after all – but now he could only look at his workload and balk in dismay.

“You know, I AM a medic,” Knockout pointed out. “You don’t HAVE to do this yourself.”

Ratchet snorted. “I don’t trust you yet, not fully. This is something I need to do myself.”

“Seriously, Ratchet, you work yourself too hard,” Knockout told him, a smug little smile on his faceplate. “If you insist on taking all this on yourself, then go ahead, but do know that I just want to help… in whatever capacity you see fit.” And his smile widened to something a little more lascivious.

“Oh, go frag an Insecticon if you’re that desperate for an interface,” Ratchet snapped, motioning for the next Vehicon to get up on the berth. “If you truly want to help, why don’t you at least hand me my tools?”

Knockout’s smile faded, but he stepped up beside Ratchet and began arranging things on the workbench to better suit his liking. “Despite what you Autobots think, we’re not all perverts. We may have a bit more exotic tastes than you’re used to, but we’ve come to accept that interfacing isn’t a bad thing. Not like some of your kind who turn it into something filthy…”

“It’s going to take us awhile to get used to your ways,” Ratchet countered, touching a scanner to Charlie’s chest. “And not just your interfacing habits either. Truce or not, don’t expect us to welcome you and your ways with open arms right away.”

“Trust me, I’m not going to seduce you in your recharge cycles,” Knockout told him. “I like my partners willing…”

“Ratchet?”

The white medic glanced up from the Vehicon to find Smokescreen standing in the doorway to the repair bay. The young carformer’s optics brightened slightly at the sight of Knockout and Charlie, and his doorwings tensed slightly. It took visible effort on his part to relax again.

“Sorry,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Still kinda a habit… not used to ‘Cons being in the repair bay.”

“If you’re just here to harass me, get out,” Ratchet grumbled. “I’m busy.”

“Actually… I was kinda hoping you had a moment,” said Smokescreen, giving him a plaintive look. “I’ve been having pains lately…”

Ratchet’s irritation drained away at that, replaced with a gnawing worry, and he set the scanner down. “How long is ‘lately?’ And where?”

“Since the battle,” Smokescreen replied. “I don’t think I got shot or anything,” he said quickly at the look of shock on the medic’s features. “I’m thinking maybe I got overexcited and pulled a cable or something… but yeah, it’s kinda shooting pains through my abdominal cavity.”

“That’s not a pulled cable, if it’s shooting pains,” Ratchet noted. “Charlie, scoot for now. I’ve got a patient to deal with.”

“Stay put, Charlie,” Knockout advised. “And really, Ratchet, are you so intent on monopolizing all the repair work for yourself? You have another fully competent medic on hand here. I’d gladly look Smokescreen over for you so you can keep doing your scans.”

Ratchet frowned. He didn’t like the idea of handing one of his patients over to Knockout, especially one of his fellow Autobots. How was he to know that Knockout wouldn’t slit his fuel lines and leave him to bleed out on the table, and blame it on a malfunction or neglected injury? And it wasn’t as if the red medic had given him cause to trust him in the past. 

Still… he had to admit it would be nice to have another pair of hands in the medbay. And come to think of it, he’d been so fragging busy trying to lead the Autobots that Smokescreen had never even had a preliminary checkup before being admitted into their forces. Maybe it was time he started delegating responsibility.

“All right, Smokescreen, get on the other berth,” Ratchet ordered. “Knockout, look him over, will you? And if you so much as put a dent in him, I’ll rebuild you into a garbage compactor.”

“You wound me, Ratchet,” Knockout pouted. “Learn to have a little trust in your fellow mechs.” He smiled at Smokescreen and patted the berth, and with a reluctant expression Smokescreen climbed up onto the berth.

Ratchet went back to his examination of Charlie, though he watched Knockout out of the corner of his optic as he plugged Smokescreen into a scanner and began a physical examination. Every joint in the white medic’s body ached with tension, and he tried to force himself to relax. Fraggit, if they were going to make this truce work, he needed to learn to trust his new comrades. Then again, he was still waiting for said comrades to give him actual reason to trust him…

He had to admit that Knockout was thorough, inspecting each of Smokescreen’s systems one by one instead of trusting the scanner to give the entire story. He wasn’t precisely professional, though – more than once he caught the medic’s slim hands wandering, lingering a little longer than necessary over a sensitive area or drifting toward his patient’s thigh or aft before resuming their work. Smokescreen shifted under the touch, faceplates blue with an embarrassed blush, giving Ratchet a look like he didn’t know whether to be uncomfortable with the attention or not.

Ratchet didn’t say anything out loud, however, until Knockout actually began reaching for the younger mech’s panel. “Honestly, Knockout!”

“You said give him a physical,” Knockout pointed out, not looking apologetic in the least. “Doesn’t that mean checking that every part of his systems is in good working order?”

“That doesn’t entail fragging your patient on the medical berth!” Ratchet snapped. “Just friggin’ ask him if his equipment’s working!”

“Uh… I wouldn’t know,” Smokescreen admitted, blushing even deeper. “Never opened my panel before… kinda inexperienced there…”

Knockout looked about to say something – doubtless some lewd remark about helping Smokescreen gain some experience in that field – but the scanner beeped at that moment. The red carformer bent down to check the scanner, head cocked to the side curiously.

“Hmmm… interesting.”

“Oh Primus, what’s wrong?” Smokescreen whimpered.

“I wouldn’t say wrong per se,” Knockout replied. “Just… hmmm.”

“That’s not something a patient wants to hear from his medic,” Ratchet said warningly. “Spit it out already.”

Knockout tapped his lip plates thoughtfully. “Nothing, really. Simply what appears to be a foreign object lodged in his abdominal cavity.”

“Foreign object?” demanded Ratchet, and he nudged Charlie out the door and stormed over to the other repair berth. “Let me see.” And he nearly pushed Knockout aside for a better look.

The red mech hadn’t been kidding at all – the scans showed a sizable object inside Smokescreen’s abdomen, extending nearly from collar to pelvis. How the young mech hadn’t noticed the object before now, and hadn’t been damaged from it jostling against his internal components and tubing, he had no idea – the kid was just fragged lucky, he guessed. 

“What is it?” asked Smokescreen, optics bright and pale with fear. “It’s not a bomb, is it? Or some kind of booby trap…”

“Stop worrying,” Ratchet ordered. “You’ll just tense up and risk more damage. No, it’s not a bomb. Looks more like a blade, actually.”

“A blade would have done noticeable damage by now,” Knockout pointed out. “Well, we’re not going to get answers just by staring at him, are we? Let’s open him up and get it out.”

“Who’s medbay is this, yours or mine?” Ratchet demanded, but he pushed Smokescreen down onto the berth anyhow. “Hold still, Smokescreen. If you’re patient and cooperate with us, we won’t have to put you offline to do this. Knockout, monitor his vitals for me.”

Knockout nodded and took the younger mech’s hand, giving it a comforting squeeze before turning his attention to the monitors. Smokescreen gave the red medic a look of surprised gratitude, a faint smile on his faceplate, before leaning back and trying to relax. He twitched just slightly as Ratchet carefully unlatched his chest and abdominal plates and opened them, but he didn’t try to squirm away or start shaking in terror, so they were good so far…

Ratchet’s optics flared as he caught sight of what lay atop Smokescreen’s internal components, and he couldn’t fully suppress a gasp of wonder.

“What is it, Doc?” Smokescreen asked, raising his head slightly. “Is it bad?”

“I told you not to move,” Ratchet ordered, though his voice lacked the steel to back the command up. “Primus below… can it really be?”

Knockout’s optics brightened in awe. “Whoa.”

“Guys, this really isn’t helping me feel more secure,” Smokescreen pointed out. “What is it?”

“Smokescreen,” Ratchet said quietly, “you said you were with Alpha Trion right before the Decepticons captured you. Did he give you anything to safeguard before you left?”

“Nuh-uh. There wasn’t time. Last thing I remember was the alarms going off… then I blacked out. Guess someone clobbered me over the head and took me captive.”

“Perhaps,” Knockout replied, looking thoughtful. “Or perhaps the old-timer did the clobbering.”

“He would never…” began Smokescreen, glaring.

“He needed to secure something valuable,” Knockout went on, cutting him off. “And he needed to do it in a hurry. You were available, and he either didn’t have time to explain it to you, or he feared you’d give it up to the Decepticons under pressure. So he did the next best thing – knocked you out and hid it in your chassis.”

Smokescreen blinked up at Knockout. “…oh. Um… what did he hide in me? Records? Or an artifact of some kind?”

“Not just ‘some kind,’” Ratchet said reverently, and he reached into Smokescreen’s chassis and withdrew the item – a large golden key, long and wide enough to be a sword. “If this is what I think it is…”

Smokescreen stared up at the key in shock. “No way… that’s an Omega Key! Alpha Trion was sticking them in pods to shoot off into space! Guess he missed one.”

Ratchet and Knockout shared a look, and the red medic broke out in a delighted laugh. Ratchet couldn’t help a smile of wild joy himself. If Smokescreen was right and this turned out to be one of the Omega Keys, then Cybertron’s fortunes had just taken a turn for the better. What had started out as a medical issue could very well be the salvation of their homeworld.

***

A group of Vehicons was standing at the door to the Autobot command center when Arcee drove in, back from a patrol run and ready to deliver her report. She tensed, ready to leap from motorcycle to robot form at a moment’s notice should any of them show signs of aggression. Truce or not, she wasn’t about to let her guard down around these mechs. They would turn on the Autobots at the first opportunity, she knew it…

The Vehicons glanced up at her curiously, but one of them shrugged and turned back to the others, and his comrades followed suit and resumed their conversation. All the same, she gave the group a wide berth as she drove past them, not responding or even acknowledging when one of them called out in greeting. She merely dismissed her driver hologram, transformed, and brushed off some of the road dust before going to deliver her report.

“Primus, what’s her problem?” a Vehicon grumbled, just loudly enough for her to hear. “Guess things really haven’t changed – Autobots are still icy snobs.”

“Don’t judge ‘em all by one being a brat, Paul,” another advised him. “Bulkhead and Wheeljack are cool. So’s Bumblebee. Ratchet’s a grouch, but he’s at least nice to us.”

“Only because he’s a medic,” Paul replied. “If it wasn’t for that code they all go by, he’d probably have scrapped us by now.”

“Oh, stop being so paranoid,” a third Vehicon groaned. “He’s a medic, not a warlord.”

“It’s still nice to have Orion back,” the second Vehicon pointed out. “Even if we have to call him Optimus now. He’s finally got Megatron calling us by our names, which is a plus.”

Arcee rolled her optics. Leave it to Optimus to individualize a bunch of Decepticon drones. He was a good leader, but she often thought he was far too compassionate for his own good. And personalizing the enemy like this was bound to get them in trouble when the Decepticons finally did break the truce and strike back at them… and it was only a matter of time before that happened, no matter what Optimus said.

“Anyone else think he’s gotten kinda… cold… since he left?” asked a fourth Vehicon. “I dunno, he’s just not as friendly anymore.”

“He’s still friendly, Mike,” the third Vehicon pointed out. “He just has to be professional now that he’s Prime again, especially with the Autobots around. But when it’s just us, he’s his old self.”

“I kinda forgot how much I missed him,” the second one pointed out. “Heh, think we all missed him, actually. Even Megatron missed him.”

“Don’t start those rumors again, Charlie,” Paul grumbled. “There’s no way Orion and Megatron are a couple.”

“Oh, come on!” Charlie insisted. “Don’t tell me you all don’t see it! Those two are totally a couple! Ever seen the looks Orion used to give him? And they have a kid together now, that’s a pretty big hint…”

Arcee tensed, though not in preparation to fight. She, too, had heard the rumors. It was pretty much common knowledge that Cascade was a product of a liaison between Optimus and Megatron, but she had wanted to believe said liaison had been either unwilling on Optimus’ part or simply a one-night stand. She didn’t even want to entertain the possibility that they could be lovers… and yet most of the Decepticons had hinted at that possibility, and even Ratchet and Bumblebee seemed to accept it. But she refused to believe it. Those two had been mortal foes for far too long…

“You do realize you’re blocking the doorway, miss.”

Arcee whirled, gun drawn, at the sound of that voice. The Vehicons yelped and scattered, but the speaker merely laughed and raised his hands.

“At ease, soldier!” Knockout chuckled. “I’m unarmed, m’lady. Surely you wouldn’t fire on an innocent civilian.”

She narrowed her optics but lowered the gun. “You don’t know the meaning of the word ‘innocent,’ you perverted sadist.”

Knockout just laughed again. “Oh, you Autobots. Assuming we’re all filthy hedonists simply because we’re not as uptight as your kind. As prudish as you all seem to be, it’s a wonder you manage to procreate at all.” He made a shooing motion with one clawed hand. “Could you step aside, please? I have a very important message for Optimus Prime.”

“I shouldn’t even let you near him,” Arcee retorted. “Your kind abused him and took advantage of him while he was suffering from amnesia. How am I to know you aren’t just trying to get close to him and hurt him again?”

“Please, m’lady, you wound me,” Knockout said dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Orion Pax is a very dear friend to me. Why would I want to hurt him? Why, I’m sure he has only the best of memories of me.” His optics shone at that, and he offered her a suggestive smile that made her take a step back. If he was implying…

“Hey, speaking of Orion, are the rumors true, Knockout?” Charlie asked. “You know, that you and Orion slept together?” 

Her fuel tank clenched at that, and she raised her gun again, aiming at the medic’s chest. “You didn’t.”

He chuckled softly. “Come now, Arcee, don’t act like that. I know I have a reputation, but I like my partners willing.”

“Why would Optimus ever want you to touch him?” she snarled. “After all you did to him!”

“M’lady, we did nothing of the sort.” His smile remained in place, but his voice took on a warning tone, as if he were trying to contain his growing anger. “Orion Pax joined us of his own accord, albeit on somewhat flawed information. He befriended us out of the kindness of his own spark. And when he went to bed with anyone – and I can assure you that Megatron and I were his only partners – he was not taken by force but went willingly. I didn’t even spike him, if you must have specifics. Though I must admit I wouldn’t mind a repeat performance…” He smiled indulgently.

“You’re sick!” she cried out, and rammed the gun into his chest. “You’re all disgusting!” The thought of this slimy mechanism having his hands all over Optimus, doing unspeakable things to him, made her tanks roil in anger.

“Hey, hey, hey, put the gun down!” Mike shouted, waving his arms. “Thought there was a ceasefire!”

“Knew this truce wasn’t gonna last long,” Paul grumbled.

“I shouldn’t’ve said nothin’!” wailed Charlie. “I’m sorry, shoulda kept my big fat vocalizer shut!”

Knockout simply smirked at Arcee, optics glinting dangerously. “Go right ahead, miss. Shoot me. Blow my internals out my back if you so desire. And watch your precious Optimus Prime turn against you.”

“I’ve known him for far longer than you have,” she hissed. “He’d never turn against me!”

“Really?” Knockout asked, looking far more amused than frightened despite the gun pointed directly at his spark chamber. “Do you truly know him? Or do you just know the mask he’s worn for so long? I think I may have a better idea of the true Optimus Prime than you.”

She curled her lip and tightened her grip on the trigger. “How dare you-“

“Arcee, drop the gun. NOW.”

She froze, registering the touch of a weapon at her own back. This couldn’t be… Optimus would never draw a weapon on her…

“Arcee,” Optimus ordered, voice cold, “do as I order you. You’re already in serious trouble – don’t compound your mistake any further.”

Slowly, she lowered the gun, setting it on the floor, then stood with her hands raised. “Optimus… is it true?” She pivoted around to face the Prime, keeping her hands in the air. “Did you really…”

Optimus kept his gun trained on her, and despite the deceptively calm look on his face she could sense the tension in his face plates, as if it were taking all his strength to keep himself composed. His optics betrayed him as well, burning with anger… an anger laced with a pain that sent a stab through her fuel tanks. He was disappointed in her, and somehow that affected her more deeply than if he had simply been outright mad at her.

“Whatever happened between Knockout and myself is the past, Arcee,” he said in a hard voice. “If I had thought it an issue worth dealing with, I would have dealt with it myself. It is certainly not worth breaking the truce over.”

“Optimus… we can’t trust them,” she insisted. “They’ll turn against us at any moment. We can’t let them stay in the base. They’ll be the end of us!”

Optimus narrowed his optics. “From what I have seen, the Decepticons have done nothing to violate the truce. But it disturbs and saddens me to see an Autobot be the first to renege on our agreement with them. The fact that Knockout didn’t even draw a weapon in his defense despite you threatening his life only makes it all the more clear.”

“Optimus, do you hear yourself?” she demanded. “Are you accusing Autobots of being no better than… than them?” She pointed accusingly at Knockout and the Vehicons.

“Most of the Autobots have obeyed the terms of the truce, Arcee,” he replied. “I expected you to do the same. The fact that you couldn’t, and have let your anger and desire for revenge get the better of you, shows me that you are not yet ready to function under the ceasefire.”

She took a step back. “You’re not saying…”

“You are under probation for the foreseeable future,” he replied. “You will not be allowed to carry a weapon, and you will not leave the base. You will travel with a guard at all times, for your protection as well as the protection of our allies.” He bent down and collected her gun. “If you can show me that you can keep your anger under control from here on out, then the probation will be lifted… but another infraction like this, and the consequences will be more severe.”

She glared up at him. “You’re not the Optimus I knew anymore. The Optimus I served would never have agreed to this ceasefire in the first place. He would have kept fighting, not blindly trusted the Decepticons!”

At that, Optimus had the gall to actually smile. “You’re right… I’m no longer that Optimus. But perhaps it’s for the greater good of our kind that I’m not him anymore.” He motioned to the Vehicons. “Mike, Paul, who is available to serve as her guard currently? Perhaps two Vehicons, or a Vehicon and an Insecticon, will be best at the moment.”

“Jake and Chop Shop, probably,” Mike replied. “They get along okay, and they’re good at guard work.”

“Very good. I’ll have Megatron call them in and brief them on the situation. I’m putting Arcee in your charge until they’ve been given their assignment.”

“Yessir.” Paul gave a brief salute. “Can do.”

Knockout seemed to sag slightly in relief, but he composed himself quickly. “Now that that’s over with, I’d like to steal a moment of your time, Prime. Not for the reasons I’m sure the lady is suspecting.” He smirked at Arcee, who glowered back hatefully. “But it’s a bit of an urgent matter.”

“Let’s take this to my office,” Optimus replied, and motioned for the medic to follow him.

***

Arcee wasn’t the only mechanism in the base displeased with the sudden truce between the two factions. And when this particular mech received the summons to appear before Megatron – and Optimus Prime – his first reaction was to take off and fly as far from the base as possible. His ingrained sense of honor and duty won out, but he still couldn’t suppress a growl of misgiving as he strode into the conference room.

The sight of Megatron and Optimus Prime sitting side by side, each regarding him with an expectant air, bothered Dreadwing on a deep level. This truce should never have been struck. To have to work alongside their worst enemies – and the very mechanisms responsible for the death of his twin – was not only dishonorable, but a constant reminder of what he had lost at these mechs’ hands. They hadn’t just torn Skyquake from him, but both his and his brother’s freedom and innocence. For a petty crime that would have earned any of the upper class a slap on the wrist, they had been sentenced to the gladiator arena for the rest of their days, and though they had managed to survive by luck and skill, the experience had left scars that would never fully heal.

And after all of that, Megatron, who knew better than most mechanisms what he and Skyquake had been through, expected them to work alongside the Autobots as if nothing had changed? It was not only wrong, but an insult to his brother’s memory. He could not forget all he had suffered at their hands… and though he would obey his commander, if only out of honor and duty, he refused to bow to the Prime’s will.

He nodded respectfully to Megatron but kept his gaze away from Optimus as he sat down across from them. Best to get this over with, he figured.

“Dreadwing,” Optimus began, “I thank you for agreeing to abide by the truce between our factions.”

“Did I have a choice?” Dreadwing demanded.

Optimus frowned, and seemed to debate whether it was worth arguing with that statement. But he let it go. “You’ve behaved commendably since the truce went into effect. But I sense that your spark isn’t in it. I want you to serve our cause of restoring Cybertron not out of duty, but because you want to.”

He scowled at the Autobot commander. “Your kind murdered my brother. Your arrogant noble class consigned my brother and me to a life on the streets, then when we had to resort to thievery to survive you punished us by throwing us to the arena lords. And after all we suffered at your hands, you have the bolts to assume I would WANT to serve you?” He brought his fist down on the table before him. “You’re stupider than I thought!”

“Dreadwing, control yourself!” Megatron barked.

The Seeker shot a glare at the Decepticon commander. Megatron leveled a stern gaze back, and he twitched his wings irritably but subsided.

“I will serve under this joint leadership. But do not expect me to welcome your kind among our ranks with open arms, Optimus Prime. Not after all you have done against me.”

Optimus nodded, looking grave. “I do not want you as my enemy, Dreadwing. Nor do I want to see you depart from our ranks. You are a good fighter, with a strong sense of honor and loyalty, and I value those qualities. And above all… I want to make some sort of restitution for what was taken from you.”

Dreadwing snorted. “You can never return what was taken from me.”

“Don’t be so quick to assume,” Megatron told him, and he lifted his hand and laid a long golden object on the table before Dreadwing.

The blue jetformer’s frown deepened, though out of puzzlement rather than anger. Was this thing supposed to be significant somehow? “What is this?”

“An Omega Key,” Megatron replied. “According to the archives Optimus decoded while he was Orion Pax, there are several artifacts from the Iacon archives scattered about this planet… including keys to the fabled Omega Lock. Together, these keys have the potential to restore our homeworld, but even separate they have their own powers.”

Dreadwing reached out to lift the key in one hand, looking it over with a critical optic. “You think to repay me by giving me one of the keys?” That only baffled him further.

“Not precisely,” Optimus replied. “But we hoped to repay you by making use of the key to restore your brother’s life.”

He nearly lost his grip on the key in shock. He couldn’t be serious. This had to be a sick prank. And yet… yet he couldn’t quell the sudden surge of hope that flooded his spark.

“Is that even possible?” he demanded softly.

“In theory, it should be,” Optimus replied. “At least, if the records are correct. It hasn’t been put into practice yet. But we have nothing to lose by trying… and if we can recover your brother’s body, we can put it to the test. If all goes well, we can bring him back from the Allspark, and reunite him with you.”

Dreadwing stared at the two leaders, unable to form the words. It took him a long moment to compose himself enough to finally blurt “Why?”

“Because you are a good mech,” Optimus replied softly. “Because despite the fact that we didn’t interact much while I was working aboard the Nemesis, I admired your strength and your code of honor, and even now I value those traits and want to see you use them to further our cause. But above all, because it’s high time things were set right for all our kind. The Autobots have done their share of damage in this war, and I want to see it repaired. I cannot erase all your pain, but I can do everything possible to make restitution for it now.”

Dreadwing lowered his head, clenching his jaw in an effort to choke back a sob. Cleanser built up in his optics, and he struggled to blink it back. “Th-thank you… Optimus Prime.”

Megatron nodded in satisfaction. “Ratchet is working out how to free Skyquake’s body from the shadowzone. Until he has found a way to recover it, we have agreed that the key would be safest in your care. Guard it well.”

“Yes, sir.” He held it close to his chest, as if it were a sparkling. Of course he would guard it well. If it meant a chance at bringing Skyquake back, he would guard it with his life.

“Now that that’s over with, report to the repair bay,” Megatron ordered. “All Decepticons are undergoing health scans under Ratchet’s direction, and you’re overdue for yours.”

“Yes, sir.” He bowed deeply, both to Optimus and to Megatron, before leaving the conference room.

Hardshell and Wheeljack were deep in conversation as Dreadwing made his way down the hall, but they stopped talking and just stared as the Seeker strolled past, neither seeming sure of what to make of what he saw. So they weren’t used to seeing him happy, were they? Well, they’d have to learn to live with the sight. If all went well, then perhaps he’d have cause to wear a smile more often.

He was almost to the repair bay when a muffled sound made him pause. His smile faded, and he cocked his head thoughtfully. That seemed to be coming from the supply closet close by… but was it a sound of pain, or of something else? He suspected he already knew what the answer was, but he turned to the door and opened it anyhow.

Two sets of optics – one blue and flaring in embarrassment and shock, one scarlet and narrowed in annoyance – regarded him from inside the closet. Even in the dim shadows of the small room it was quite obvious what the two were up to – Knockout had Smokescreen pressed against the far wall, one hand on his aft and the other still lightly massaging a doorwing, while Smokescreen was still gripping the medic’s shoulders and had one leg hooked around Knockout’s. The silver-and-white carformer was venting harder than normal, though whether due to what Knockout was doing to him or the shock of being caught at it was anyone’s guess.

“This, uh, this isn’t what it looks like!” Smokescreen blurted, his faceplates flushing a spectacular shade of blue.

“This is exactly what it looks like,” Knockout replied with a smug little grin, though his optics still flashed in irritation. “Do close the door, Dreadwing. I’ll do you next if you’re that impatient for a turn.”

Dreadwing smirked. “Perhaps later… do keep it down, you two. Not all the Autobots are as open-minded as Optimus.”

Smokescreen’s optics widened at that, but Knockout distracted him with a nip to his throat cables. Dreadwing shut the door to save the young mech any further embarrassment and headed for the repair bay. Well, at least one Decepticon was going to enjoy his time among the Autobots far too much, if only because he would thoroughly enjoy the challenge of trying to seduce every last one of them.


	17. Chapter 17

Bob knew he shouldn’t be here. He’d been told time and again by his caretaker that the sparkling’s berth was off-limits and that he needed to stay away from it unless Orion or Megatron gave him permission. Orion had even held him up to show him the berth’s contents and warned him about how fragile the new little one was, and that he needed to be very careful with her. And Megatron had made it no secret that the consequences would be severe if Bob disobeyed.

But the little Insecticon couldn’t help himself. He was just too curious. If his caretakers insisted he wasn’t supposed to approach the crib without their express permission, then there must be something very special or interesting about the little mechanism occupying it, right?

Besides, Orion and Megatron were very busy at the moment, leading the other adults out to dig something shiny out of a mountain or something like that. They’d left Ratchet behind to operate the groundbridge and watch over the sparklings, but the white mech was distracted with a glitchy terminal and completely ignoring both Bob and Cascade at the moment.

Bob nearly chittered with laughter but managed to bite back the sound just in time. So long as Ratchet didn’t discover the “glitchy” terminal was a result of him biting a few cables, he’d be fine. And it gave him an opening to investigate his new sister for himself.

The sparkling’s berth looked nothing like a human baby’s crib – it more closely resembled an oblong bowl with a flat, padded bottom. Cascade lay curled up at one end of the crib, optics dim, the fingers of one hand stuck in her mouth. A soft cooling blanket was wadded up at the other end of the crib, next to a plush turbofox doll whose ears were already a bit ragged with chewing. 

Bob clicked softly and cocked his head for a better look. So this was the cause of all the fuss? The reason Orion had been paying him less attention lately? He couldn’t see what the big deal was. She was just a tiny mech, not even an Insecticon. She didn’t even have wings or bright colors. He gave a loud snort of disappointment. He’d been hoping for something more interesting…

He must have snorted louder than he’d intended, because Cascade’s optics suddenly flared to life. She pulled her hand from her mouth and looked around, optics wide as she tried to see what had awakened her. Before Bob could think to drop down from the side of the crib and scurry off, her gaze caught his, and she stared at him with a puzzled expression.

Bob cocked his head to one side, then the other. Then he gave a questioning chirp.

Cascade blinked her optic shutters a few times, still staring. Then she squealed happily and raised her arms toward him. Bob flinched slightly, hoping that her sudden racket wouldn’t alert the medic…

“Calm down, Cascade, I’ll be right there!” Ratchet called out. “Soon as I get this call from Optimus! Fraggit, everything wants my attention at once…”

Bob squeaked and tried to scramble down from the crib, but he lost his balance and ended up tumbling straight into the berth instead. Cascade’s happy squeals cut off with an eep of surprise.

“Phew, she’s settled down,” Ratchet muttered. “Oh, nothing, Optimus, Cascade’s just making noise to be heard, I guess…”

Bob let himself relax a touch… then tensed again as Cascade reached out to grab at one of the horns on the side of his helm. She didn’t exactly have a strong grip, but she was intensely curious, patting at his head and shoulders, investigating every bristle and point of his armor. He held still, not wanting to move wrong and hurt her… and somehow sensing that she didn’t want to hurt him in return, but was simply fascinated by this newcomer to her world.

Finally she grabbed both his helm-horns and turned his head to face him, staring at him with bright, curious golden optics. She cocked her head to one side and gave a gurgling chirp, one that Bob recognized as a questioning sound. In sparkling talk, she was asking who he was.

Bob flickered his optics, then tried to work his mouth in the right shape to vocalize properly. Talking was still hard for him, but at least he could manage the most important word…

“Boooooooobb,” he gurgled.

Cascade tilted her head. “B-b-b-b?”

“Bob,” he chirped, and lightly nudged his face against hers. “Bob.”

“B-b-b-b?”

“Bob.” Maybe if he repeated it enough times, she’d get it right. She seemed to have the first sound down, at least, unless she was just making noise…

“B-b-b-baaaa… Bab!” Her optics flashed in triumph. “Bab-b-b-b!”

“Bob!” he repeated, wriggling in excitement. “Bob!”

“B-b-b-bab!” She didn’t have the vowel quite right and she kept stuttering her Bs, sounding like an engine struggling to start up, but she seemed to have the general idea. She repeated her version of his name over and over, patting at his head and shoulders with every repetition. Bob repeated the name as well, wriggling delightedly. Cascade was fun! Why hadn’t Orion introduced them earlier?

Finally Cascade seemed to tire of the game, and she yawned and promptly flopped back onto the padded bottom of the crib. Reaching out with her tiny clawed hands, she tugged Bob close, snuggling against him as if he were an oversized teddy bear. Before Bob could squirm away, she’d curled up against him and was sound asleep, a tiny snore of static coming from her vocalizer.

Bob nuzzled her gently before settling in as well, curling his larger form around the sparkling. Cascade wasn’t an Insecticon… but she was cute, and she liked him. And somehow Bob felt fond of her in return, and even strangely protective. It was going to be strange having a little sister, but already he could see that it would have its benefits. Maybe when she grew older she could wrestle, or explore the base with him, or play the always-exciting game of Grab Daddy’s Datapads And Run…

When Ratchet thought to check on Cascade again, he was startled to find she wasn’t alone in her berth. The sight of the tiny Insecticon curled up around her, dozing contentedly, made him stop and stare a moment, wondering if he needed to reboot his optics to be sure of what he was seeing. And he briefly wondered if he should remove Bob from the crib before he woke up and did something to hurt the sparkling.

Cascade chose that moment to yawn again, and to wrap one tiny arm around Bob’s neck. A single sleepy sound emerged from her mouth – “B-b-b-ab.”

Bob stirred in response, and he nuzzled against the sparkling before drifting deeper into sleep.

Ratchet couldn’t help it – he chuckled softly at the sight, and pulled the blanket over the two sleeping sparklings. They would be fine, he decided. Bob getting along so well with Cascade was a good sign as far as he was concerned. And perhaps with the Insecticon around to keep the femme entertained, it would actually make Optimus’ parenting job all the easier.

***

“A hammer?” Starscream demanded, scowling as if he’d just swallowed a mouthful of tainted fuel. “We traveled all that way and did all that digging for a blasted hammer?”

“If I recall correctly, Starscream, you did very little of the actual digging,” Dreadwing pointed out, glaring at the slender Seeker. “Something about ‘being management for the job,’ if I recall…”

“Not all of us have the brute strength for excavation work,” Starscream retorted.

“Enough out of you two,” Megatron ordered. “If you must quarrel about who did their share of the work, do it elsewhere. You’re ruining the triumph of the moment.”

Optimus raised an optic ridge at Megatron’s choice of words, but said nothing.

The four mechs were in the lower levels of the Autobot Base, in an area that had once served as a makeshift brig but now functioned as storage for the relics. Already three relics had been found – two Omega Keys and a spark extractor – and these rested on a table inside one of the cells, secure behind a powerful force field and inside a thick transparisteel case. In his hands Optimus held a fourth item to be added to the collection, a large war hammer with a gleaming gold patina.

“The Forge of Solus,” Optimus breathed, reverently stroking the head of the hammer. “Thought to have been destroyed upon her death. It’s a miracle it even survived this long, let alone in such perfect condition.”

“I seriously doubt there are many forces in existence that could damage a Relic of the Firstforged,” Megatron pointed out. “Still, it’s a miracle we found it at all. And if its rumored properties are accurate, it’s one more step toward rebuilding our home.”

Optimus nodded, and he turned to the cell and rested his palm against the electronic lock, dropping the force field momentarily. He carried the hammer toward the table and laid it gently down, as if it would shatter if he handled it roughly. Megatron wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but it seemed as if the other artifacts gleamed a little more brightly as the Forge of Solus joined them, almost as if they recognized that one of their brethren was joining them and they were giving a silent welcome.

He shook his head slightly, chasing that quirk of a thought away. Optimus’s enthusiasm over the relics was rubbing off on him, and he was starting to anthropomorphize them in his thoughts. If he kept this up he’d find himself talking to them as he cleaned the dirt and grime from them, much like Optimus did when he thought no one was listening. An endearing trait in his bondmate, but not one he wanted to pick up himself.

“The two of you are dismissed,” Optimus told Dreadwing and Starscream once he’d sealed the cell behind him. “You’re free to do whatever you wish until tomorrow morning. We’ll move out to New York City to search for the relic there at that time.”

Starscream snorted. “How do you expect us to remain inconspicuous in a place overrun with those human insects? Even in our alt modes, we Decepticons stand out…”

“Agent Fowler has his methods,” Optimus replied. “And please refrain from calling the humans ‘insects.’ We are merely guests on their planet, and we should treat our hosts with respect.”

Starscream snorted and walked off.

“Permission to speak freely,” Dreadwing requested.

“You don’t need to ask,” Optimus assured him. “Is something wrong?”

Dreadwing shook his head. “If I may ask… how long before we can make use of the keys?”

Megatron didn’t need to ask what he meant by that, and he knew the blue mech wasn’t referring to fitting the keys to the Omega Lock. “As soon as Ratchet and Soundwave find a means to access the shadow zone and retrieve Skyquake’s body, we can make use of them. Both of them are very busy with other duties, however, so it will take time.”

His expression fell slightly, but he nodded. “That’s all I wished to know.” And with that, he bowed and walked off.

“Do you want to bet that he’s going to ask Ratchet and Soundwave if he can lend a servo?” Optimus asked. “To speed the process along somewhat?”

“I won’t take the bet,” Megatron replied. “You’d win.” He chuckled softly. “Though I’m not sure how much science training Dreadwing has, so I doubt he’ll be much help.”

“You never know,” Optimus replied, and reached out to take Megatron’s hand. Megatron closed his fingers around the Prime’s smaller hand, and the two of them walked out of the brig and toward their shared quarters.

The past several weeks had been a time of great change for the newly united Cybertronian factions. For the first time in thousands of years, Autobots and Decepticons found themselves working side by side instead of going for one another’s throats or sabotaging each other’s efforts to restore or conquer Cybertron. It wasn’t uncommon to find Smokescreen and Dreadwing working together to shift a particularly heavy chunk of stone, or Ratchet and Knockout hunched over the same patient on the operating table, or even Bulkhead and Breakdown competing to see who could break through a slab of rock the fastest. Given that many of these mechs had been trying to brutally offline one another just weeks before, this was nothing short of a miracle.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t problems, however. Arcee and several of the Vehicons remained stubbornly against any sort of alliance, and more than one fistfight had broken out between the factions as they tried to figure out their places among the newly merged armies. So far nothing calamitous had happened, but Megatron remained wary. Years of bitter hatred and bloody fighting couldn’t be smoothed over immediately, and it was bound to be many years before things were settled completely. Still, they had come a long way in a short time, and that was a hopeful enough sign for now.

They had just reached the corridor leading to their quarters when Bumblebee came roaring around the corner in his muscle-car mode, revving his engine eagerly. Upon spotting the two leaders he slammed on his brakes, screeching to a halt just inches from their feet. He backed up several paces before transforming, offering them a sheepish look.

“What’s the hurry, Bumblebee?” asked Optimus, looking more amused than annoyed.

Bumblebee beeped and chirped in reply, gesturing enthusiastically.

“A race?” Megatron frowned. “Knockout knows better than to indulge in a pointless drag race so near human habitation. If the four of you get caught…”

Bee beeped insistently.

“He’s right,” Optimus assured Megatron. “There are roads around here that are remote enough that they won’t be caught, especially if they keep their windows tinted or their holograms in place. And I don’t know about Breakdown and Knockout, but Smokescreen and Bumblebee know to be careful and what to do in the event the human law enforcement arrive.”

Megatron sighed but nodded. “I dislike the idea of it… but very well. I suppose even ground-based mechs have to burn off their excess energy somehow. But if Knockout gets himself caught again, I’ll have his color scheme swapped out to pink as punishment.”

Bee gave a stuttering beep, his version of a laugh, and transformed again, swerving around the two leaders and making for the base’s exit.

“They’ll be fine, Megatron,” Optimus assured him. “They’ve worked hard today and deserve a break. And look on the bright side – by the time they’re done they’ll be too exhausted to get themselves into trouble.”

“Perhaps,” Megatron replied, somewhat doubtfully. Knockout seemed rather adept at getting himself into trouble no matter the circumstances. At least Breakdown would be with him to pull his aft out of the smelter, he supposed.

Optimus Prime’s quarters had been modified to accommodate for his new bondmate and sparklings – the single-mech berth had been swapped out for a larger one, and the washrack had been refitted to accommodate Megatron’s slightly bulkier frame. A doorway now joined his quarters to the next room over, what had once been a storage room but now served as sleeping quarters for both Bob and Cascade. That kept the sparklings close enough that they could be there right away if needed, but also afforded the two of them some privacy… something Megatron had come to greatly appreciate.

As soon as the door to their quarters shut behind them Megatron hurried for the sparklings’ quarters, making a beeline for the crib. His entire frame relaxed slightly as he peered inside, and a soft laugh escaped his vocalizer.

“You act as if you haven’t seen her in an orn,” Megatron noted with a chuckle, though he stepped quickly up to his bondmate’s side to check on Cascade as well. “Aah… Bob couldn’t resist, I see.”

Optimus laughed again and reached into the crib to lightly rub Cascade’s back, then Bob’s. “He went against our rules,” he whispered, “but in a way I’m glad he did. It’s good to see he’s accepted her, and that they’re going to get along. I was a little worried he’d be jealous of her and reject her.”

Megatron nodded slightly. Insecticons were notoriously protective of their territory and of anything they saw as theirs, and he had worried that the sparkling would share those same traits. Had Bob shown any signs of aggression against Cascade, Megatron would have demanded he be returned to the Insecticons immediately and kept away from Cascade at all times. Thankfully it seemed that wouldn’t be necessary.

Optimus leaned gently against the edge of the crib, his gaze still on the sleeping sparklings. Megatron almost didn’t want to disturb him – he looked so peaceful right now, as if he could watch their creation sleep all night and be content with that. And he knew from the bond that Optimus’ moments of peace and happiness had been few and far between for much of his life.

But in the end he put a hand on his bondmate’s shoulder. “Come… they’re not going to wake up anytime soon. And you need your rest. You had a long day today.”

Optimus sighed softly but nodded, stepping back from the crib. “Long but worthwhile. With the Forge, we’re one step closer to being able to return home.”

Megatron put an arm around his shoulders and guided him out of the sparklings’ room, shutting the door behind them. “There is still much to do before Cybertron is restored, though… and it will never be the same as it was before. What has been done cannot be fully undone.”

“Perhaps,” Optimus replied. “But that gives us a chance to rebuilt it better than before.”

“Ever the optimist, Orion,” Megatron chuckled, leaning down to rest his forehead against the Prime’s.

Optimus’ optics flickered slightly at the mention of his old name, and he shuttered them and nuzzled gently against the Decepticon commander. Megatron had taken to calling him Orion in private, and while he had objected at first, claiming that he had lost that name vorns ago, by now he had accepted it as a sort of pet name. His one stipulation had been that he continued to be called Optimus or Prime in front of his troops, a condition Megatron had gladly agreed to.

Megatron took advantage of the moment to steal a kiss, briefly brushing his lip plates against Optimus’. He had intended for nothing more than that, but Optimus unexpectedly returned it, holding the contact and wrapping his arms around his bondmate. Encouraged by the gesture, Megatron held him close, deepening the kiss, reaching up to cup and rub his headfins.

“Mmmhhh…” Optimus moaned softly and lowered his head to nuzzle at his partner’s neck cables. “So much for insisting I need my rest, silly.”

“Look at it this way,” Megatron chuckled, sliding his free hand down Optimus’ back, pausing to stroke every sensitive seam on the way down. “You’ll sleep extra well tonight.”

“You are impossible,” Optimus chided, though softly and teasingly. 

“Would you have me any other way?” Megatron replied.

In response Optimus nipped at an exposed throat cable, just hard enough to send a shudder through Megatron’s frame. Ah, he’d gotten bolder with the return of his memory. This was quite a difference from the times he had interfaced with Orion Pax… but not an unwelcome difference.

Optimus nipped him again, working the fingers of one hand beneath Megatron’s shoulder panel to fondle the circuitry there. With a deep groan Megatron took his chin and raised it, pressing their lips together and plundering his mouth ruthlessly. The smaller mech returned the favor, kissing back deeply, not resisting as Megatron lifted him and pressed him against the wall, wrapping his legs around his waist to steady him. 

“Megatronus,” he gasped, pulling away to vent air and cool his systems.

“Orion,” Megatron breathed, allowing him a moment to get his internal temperatures under control before moving in to kiss him again. The exhaustion and soreness from the long work day were forgotten entirely by now, replaced by burning, loving desire.

Megatron lowered his hand to Optimus’ panel, only to find it open and waiting for him, the valve already slick with lubricant. He slid aside his own panel, freeing his spike, and in one smooth, swift movement he pushed into Optimus, giving a soft groan of pleasure as smooth, tight heat enveloped him. The smaller mech tightened his grip on him, crying out softly and bucking slightly against him. He responded by thrusting against him, timing his movements to be in synch with his lover’s.

It was different from the times they had interfaced back on the Nemesis… but not worse. Before Orion had been content to submit to Megatron, letting him take charge. Now, though, he was a more aggressive lover, hands roaming the silver mech’s body to find sensitive panels and seams, fingers slipping between gaps in his plating to tease at the wiring, mouth and dental plates working at the cables and sensory nodes at his throat. The changes didn’t diminish the pleasure, however – if anything, they only thrilled Megatron all the more.

Overload came quickly for both of them, hitting both mechs almost at the same instant. Optimus’ valve clamped down around Megatron’s spike just as he hit his release, hot transfluid filling the smaller mech even as he writhed in the grips of climax. Through the bond each felt the other’s pleasure, amplifying their own and sending waves of ecstasy crashing over both of them.

Finally the last flood of pleasure receded, leaving both mechs weak and shaking in the aftermath. Megatron nearly collapsed where he stood, but somehow managed to dredge up enough strength to carry Optimus back to the berth. He flopped down on his back, Optimus ending up on top of him and straddling his hips. The red-and-blue mech didn’t seem all that eager to move and simply flopped down as well to cover Megatron’s body with his own.

“That was… intense,” he murmured.

“It’s different with the bond,” Megatron noted, rubbing Optimus’ shoulder gently. “And you took charge a little more this time. I like that.”

“Mmmm.” Optimus shifted slightly, pulling away from his partner’s spike, before lying down again and tucking his head under Megatron’s chin. He seemed content to lay there for the night, and truth be told Megatron didn’t exactly mind that.

An odd, thoughtful feeling trickled through the bond, and he frowned. Optimus was thinking… though what precisely he was thinking about wasn’t obvious right away. He could have sensed exactly what it was through the bond, but somehow the thought of violating his mate’s privacy like that bothered him. But Orion had been an open individual, and though Optimus was far more private, perhaps he would willingly share with his bondmate.

“What is it?”

Optimus raised his head slightly, as if surprised that Megatron knew something was troubling him. But he didn’t question and simply laid his head back down.

“In all the times we’ve interfaced,” he said slowly, seeming to choose each word with care, “you’ve always been the one on top. In fact… I’ve seen memories of other times you’ve taken a mech to your berth. You’ve never allowed a partner to take your valve.”

Megatron frowned, that statement stirring a memory he would rather have kept suppressed. Optimus must have sensed that same memory, for a flicker of understanding lit up his optics, and he reached up to rest a hand on the side of the silver mech’s helm.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I should have realized…”

“You have no need to be sorry,” Megatron replied, laying his own hand atop Optimus’. “But… yes. That is the reason. After being raped in the arena, I’ve had no desire to allow another mech to spike me. The memories are… not pleasant.”

“Traumatic,” Optimus supplied. “I understand… no, I really don’t understand, as I’ve never been through that. But I understand your reasons.”

Megatron cocked his head, sensing that wasn’t the end of his line of thought. “There’s more to it, isn’t there? There’s something else on your CPU.”

Optimus sighed wearily. “There’s no hiding it from you, is there?”

“We’re bondmates. Get used to not being able to hide things from me.”

He sighed again, but continued. “I… I was curious, is all. I wanted to know what it would be like to interface with you, and to take your valve. Knockout allowed me to spike him, but… I don’t think it will be the same.” He shook his head. “But I won’t ask it of you. I don’t want to dredge up painful memories for you.”

Megatron had suspected that. He was silent awhile, brooding as he stroked up and down Optimus’ spinal array. Only once, during an interface session with Soundwave, had he tried to allow another mech to spike him. That had ended badly – he’d suffered a horrific flashback to his violation by another gladiator just as Soundwave had touched his valve, and in reaction he had backhanded the communications officer across the room. The slender mech had spent a few days in the repair bay after that, and though he harbored no anger toward Megatron for the incident, they had never shared a berth again.

Even now, the thought of being spiked again sent a tremor of fear through him. That sparked a burst of disgust in him – he, Megatron, champion of the gladiator pits of Kaon, was scared of something as simple as interfacing. But there it was.

Optimus reached up to trace the scars on Megatron’s face, his touch gentle. “I wish you had told me. I… I could have done something to stop it.”

“There is nothing you could have done,” Megatron replied. “You were a data clerk. Books and files couldn’t stop the debauchery that ruled the arenas.”

“I could have reported the crime…”

“No one cared what gladiators did to each other in the arena.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “We were refuse, criminals and laborers all, worth less than the grime on a noblemech’s feet. Reporting it only would have labeled you a sympathizer… and you never would have become Prime.”

Optimus smiled ruefully. “Would that have been so bad?”

Megatron sighed. “I know you never wanted to be Prime. I know your training was brutal. But better you as the Prime than any of the Autobot nobles… or myself. You had the compassion to lead your kind justly, compassion even your mentors couldn’t beat out of you. And no other mech would have been willing to forge a truce. No… you may not have been willing, but you were the best candidate.”

Optimus didn’t seem so sure of that – then again, he had spent so many years being called worthless and an insult to the title by his mentors that it would be some time before Megatron could convince him otherwise. “I only wish I could have done more. You didn’t deserve the abuse. And if you hadn’t suffered so much in the arena, perhaps you never would have rebelled…”

“And Cybertron would have fallen anyhow,” Megatron replied. “Sooner or later someone would have finally instigated revolution against the corrupt nobles, and the war would have commenced regardless. What is past is past, Orion. Accept it and move on.”

Optimus sighed and rested his head against Megatron’s chest. “I can accept it… it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

A thought occurred to Megatron at that moment… and at first he recoiled from it, horrified that he would even think of it. But he had to admit it was the best option before him. He couldn’t continue to let his fear dominate him, to be weak even in this small respect. And Optimus was his mate now, his lover and friend instead of his foe. Who better to help him overcome his past?

His panel had shut soon after Optimus had pulled away from him, but it slid open again with a soft click. Optimus raised his head again, puzzled.

“Again?” he asked. “So soon? You’re insatiable.”

“Thank you,” Megatron laughed. “Orion… I want you to ‘face me.”

Optimus’ optics flared in shock as he realized what Megatron was implying. “But Megatron…”

“I’ll never overcome this if I don’t face it head-on,” he insisted, then smirked slightly as he caught his own pun. “I can’t promise I won’t react badly… but I won’t hurt you. I swear it.”

Optimus stared down at the Decepticon leader, overwhelmed by what he was asking. “Your past… I don’t want to bring back memories…”

“Please,” he urged. “I would rather it be you than anyone else. Help me. Show me it can be good.”

Optimus hesitated, then took his hand and squeezed it. “I’ll be gentle. I swear it. And I’ll stop the moment you ask me to.”

Megatron had known the Autobot leader wouldn’t force anything on him, but somehow it felt good to hear him say it aloud. “I trust you.”

Optimus nodded, and he leaned down to kiss him again. His hands wandered back down his chest and abdominal plates, seeking out certain sensors and seams that soon had Megatron arching and panting again, shaking with arousal. Ah, he was a quick learner...

Optimus’ hand rested on the inside of his thigh, caressing gently. The touch was pleasant, even exciting, but it sent a nervous twinge through his systems as well.

“Are you all right?”

He nodded. “Keep going…” He offlined his optics, letting it happen. It was just his Orion… Orion was safe... Orion would never hurt him…

A touch to his valve sent a shiver through him. Briefly a memory surfaced… of a black-armored mech ripping his panel off, roughly groping him with clawed hands, a lewd and sadistic grin on his face as the younger gladiator pleaded for him to stop…

“Megatron?”

The memory receded, and he remembered that it was Optimus crouching over him, Optimus who was gently caressing him, his touch light as if he expected him to break at any moment. He shivered again, this time solely in reaction to that careful touch, his valve tightening over his partner’s fingers.

“Don’t stop,” he told him. “I will tell you if I’m done… but until then, don’t stop.” The more Optimus hesitated, the higher the chances that he would lose his nerve.

“All right…” Optimus slid another finger inside, feeling around, brushing against sensory nodes and making Megatron groan and shiver in reaction. “You’re scarred down here… why have you never gotten yourself repaired?”

“No reason to,” he growled, then gave a sharp cry and bucked his hips as Optimus touched a particularly sensitive cluster of nodes. “Aaah! There, right there… that’s good…”

Encouraged by the reaction, Optimus caressed the nodes again. Megatron arched his back, choking back another cry. If he kept this up they were going to alert the whole base as to what was going on in here… or worse, wake up the sparklings. Wouldn’t that be hilarious, their session ended not by his own fears but by a fussy youngling…

The fingers withdrew, but before he could demand to know why he’d stopped again, Optimus lowered his head toward the open panel. He paused before the open valve, warm air from his vents ghosting over the sensitized alloy, then moved in to press his mouth to it…

“Aaah!” Megatron bucked again, the feeling of Optimus’ lip plates and glossa on his most sensitive areas sending jolts of pleasure though his body. He had never been on the receiving end of this treatment before… and it was glorious. Part of him wanted Optimus to keep going like that, to forget about spiking him and focus solely on pleasuring him like this. 

But Optimus had other ideas. Just as Megatron felt the first twinges of overload hitting his systems, the red mech pulled away. He settled into place, hips between Megatron’s legs, one hand rubbing the side of his helm. His optics blazed with a curious mix of arousal and concern.

“Megatron…”

“Go on… please. Before I change my mind.”

Optimus smiled slightly and finished what he had intended to say in the first place. “I love you.”

And with that, he thrust his hips forward, entering him. Megatron went rigid beneath him, bracing himself, waiting for the flashback to hit… waiting for the memories of the arena to return, the humiliation and terror and pain. 

It never came. His body and CPU reacted not from pain and fear, but from sudden pleasure. They accepted that this wasn’t the gladiator who had abused him, but his bondmate and lover. The relief was so intense that Megatron burst out laughing in sheer joy.

“I’m not an expert in the berth,” Optimus remarked dryly, “but I don’t think that’s a particularly flattering reaction to being spiked.”

That got Megatron laughing all over again, and before Optimus could protest again he pulled his head down and kissed him deeply. He pulsed his joy and relief through the bond, letting his lover know everything was all right… no, better than all right. Perfect.

Optimus took that as consent to continue, and he drew his hips back, then thrust in again. Megatron placed his hands on his waist and guided him, setting the rhythm and depth of his strokes, until both of them were lost in the ecstasy of their joining. Pleasure, joy, and love pulsed through the bond, filling both of them until they were certain their sparks could contain no more.

The second overload of the night rocked through them, wrenching passionate cries from their vocalizers. Megatron gripped Optimus tightly and held him close, riding out their shared climax, his sensors burning with a heady combination of pleasure, joy, and triumph.

When he regained awareness of his surroundings again, he found himself lying on his side, curled protectively around Optimus. His panel was shut and surprisingly clean; Optimus must have cleaned him up and taken care of him while he’d been recovering from the most shattering overload he’d ever experienced. He felt drained… but oddly content as well.

“Are you all right?”

Megatron nodded. “Better than all right. Orion… thank you.”

Optimus smiled up at him. “You’re welcome. I’m glad to see you recovering.”

Megatron kissed the top of his helm, then wrapped his arms around him, intent on holding him through the night. It would take time before any of them were fully healed – Megatron, Optimus, the Autobots and Decepticons, even Cybertron itself. But they were making progress, one step at a time. And so long as they kept moving forward, that was enough.


	18. Chapter 18

“Cascade, wait up!”

The black sparkling skidded to a stop and turned to look behind her. “C’mon, Bob, we’re gonna miss it! Don’t be a slowpoke!”

“I can’t run as fast as you!”

Cascade sighed but flopped down into the grass, waiting for her brother to catch up. “The space bridge is gonna open without us if you don’t hurry!”

“I’m hurrying! But Dad’s not gonna let Mom open it without us being there.”

Cascade sat up and watched her brother stumble into the grass beside her, panting from the exertion of their run. She knew she was faster than him, and used it to her advantage, beating him soundly every time they raced. But he made up for it by being stronger physically, and he tended to come out on top whenever they play-wrestled. It evened out in the end, she thought.

Once Bob had recovered from the run she grabbed his shoulder spines and hauled herself onto his back. “There! We can get there at the same time now!”

Bob grinned a toothy grin, and he loped forward, Cascade whooping and hollering the whole time.

Up ahead, Mom and Dad were looking over some kind of holo-blueprint, with Uncle Ratchet and Uncle Knockout pointing things out. Cascade knew it had something to do with the space bridge, but whenever Uncle Ratchet tried to explain how it worked to her it made her head hurt something fierce. Uncle Knockout would usually laugh at Ratchet and tell Cascade “all you need to know is that it opens a door between Earth and Cybertron. Everything else is just technical stuff.”

Ratchet would usually growl at Knockout for that or even try to bat him over the head, and that always made Cascade laugh. Then again, most of the antics of the adults made her laugh, whether it was Starscream screeching at someone for some imagined offense or Smokescreen coming back into the base covered in mud or multicolored paint and refusing to say how he’d gotten that way. Mom said she seemed to have a natural talent for finding humor in any situation, but she didn’t think it was so much a special ability as it was the fact that all the grownups just kept doing silly things.

Bob slid to a halt at Dad’s feet, and she slid off the Insecticon’s back and onto the ground. “Hi Daddy!”

“Hello, my princess.” Dad grinned a wide, fanged grin that would have terrified anyone else but only made her giggle, and he scooped her up in his claws. “Have you been off terrorizing the troops again?”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms up excitedly.

“Excellent! It warms my old husk of a spark to see you following in my footsteps like this.” He hugged her tightly, chuckling. “Keep this up and you’ll be a great commander someday.”

“Really, Megatron,” Mom scolded, frowning. “Don’t encourage her to harass the troops.”

“It isn’t harassment, Optimus,” Dad replied. “It’s simply keeping them on alert.”

“I don’t hurt them, Mommy,” Cascade insisted. “Just poke them sometimes. Mike says it just tickles.”

“All the same, I expect you to treat the Vehicons with respect,” Mom told her. “If they ask you to stop, do so. Can you do that?”

“Uh-huh. But they don’t mind it. Even Hardshell says it’s okay as long as I don’t touch their spines.”

Mom nodded. “Stay close for now, all right? We’ll be opening the bridge soon and heading for the Omega Lock. I want everyone here for it.”

“’Kay.” She wriggled a bit in Dad’s arms. “Can I get down now? I wanna go find Soundwave and see if he’ll let me play with Laserbeak.”

“Mind what your carrier said,” Dad told her, setting her down. “Don’t go too far. Or else we’ll leave you behind and go to Cybertron without you.”

“No!” she squealed, trying to sound horrified but a giggle spoiling the effect.

“Megatron, don’t tease her,” Mom scolded.

“Lighten up a little, Optimus…”

She didn’t hear the rest of what Daddy said – she had already scurried off to find Soundwave. But movement among the Vehicons caught her attention, and she hurried in that direction instead. Ivan and Jose’s little one had finally grown old enough to start walking on his own, and she had been looking for an opportunity to meet him and possibly make another playmate out of him. Hopefully Ivan and Jose said it was okay.

It seemed everyone in the base was out here today – Autobots, Decepticons, and every last Vehicon, Eradicon, and even Insecticon. An air of excitement hung over the crowd, and all the conversation rippling around her seemed to focus on one thing… Cybertron. After years of digging and searching, every relic and artifact hidden on this world had been found, including all the Omega Keys, and soon they would be returning to their homeworld for good. A bad chapter of their history would close for good, and a new, hopeful one would open.

Cascade had never seen Cybertron before except in pictures, but Mom had told her stories about it. And part of her wondered what all the fuss was about. She had been born on Earth, lived all her life so far on it, and as far as she was concerned she could have spent the rest of her life exploring this planet and been perfectly happy. But her parents were eager to return, and it was hard not to be infected by their excitement. And she wanted to see all the places they had told her about – the Hall of Records, the gladiator arena, the Towers, and every other location she had seen in the old books or heard about in stories.

And besides, it wasn’t as if they’d never be returning to Earth, right? The Autobots had friends here, and they didn’t want to lose touch with them. And she liked most of them too – Jack was funny, Raf was adorable, and Agent Fowler knew almost as many stories as Daddy…

Her train of thought derailed when she saw the mechs she was looking for – a Vehicon/Eradicon pair at the edge of the crowd, the Vehicon carrying a tiny mech in his arms. The sparkling had stubby wings on his shoulders but also bore small tires on his arms and legs, so it was anyone’s guess what he would turn into when he grew up. Maybe a flying car? That would be awesome, Cascade thought.

The Eradicon saw her first, and he raised his hand and waved to her. “Hey Cas!”

“Hi, Jose!” She waved back. “Hi Ivan! Can I play with Johnny?”

Jose laughed softly. “You’re a straightforward one, aren’t you?”

“Pleeeeease?” she begged.

Ivan gave her a stern look through his mask. “You promise to be careful, right? He’s still very little and delicate, and we don’t want him hurt.”

“I’ll be extra super careful, I promise.” She reached up, making grabby hands. “Please?”

Ivan gave her a firm look, then carefully lowered the sparkling to the ground. Johnny wobbled a bit on his feet, then toddled toward her, arms outstretched and chirping brightly at seeing a new playmate. He practically fell into her arms on the last step, squeaking in dismay, but she hugged him gently before he could start crying.

“You’re walking good!” she told him. “Good job, Johnny!”

“Goooooood,” Johnny repeated, wriggling happily.

“C’mon! Let’s go play with Bob!” She hefted him in her arms and made her way to where her brother was waiting, Ivan and Jose’s watchful optics on her the whole time.

***

It never ceased to amaze Optimus just how far they had come in so short a time. Just five years ago he had come to this very spot in anger, intent on killing Megatron and avenging Raf and Bumblebee’s injuries at his hands. He’d had no idea that their fateful encounter would end with the realization that Unicron was alive again… or that the subsequent mission to defeat him would set a chain of events into motion that would change the fate of their race forever.

Now they stood here side by side on that same location, not as mortal foes, but as partners in every sense of the word. And their armies were gathered not to engage in conflict, but to return to their homeworld and restore it to its former glory. He had almost given up hope that they could rebuild Cybertron or even keep their race from dying out completely – indeed, he had begun to give up his kind as doomed, and focused himself merely on keeping Megatron from repeating history on this world and destroying it as he had destroyed Cybertron.

To know that they were so close to restoring their homeworld for good was almost too much to believe. And he wondered if he was dreaming, if he would awaken to find himself back in Unicron’s core…

Megatron reached over and squeezed his hand. “It’s real, Optimus. I can assure you of that.”

“I know. It’s just so hard to believe we’re finally here. After all this time.”

Megatron nodded, and let his gaze move to the assembled Cybertronians. Optimus joined him in his study, picking out individual mechs, identifying familiar faces. So much had changed in the past five years – not only for their race as a whole, but for many of their personal lives.

Arcee was gone. That left a hole in Optimus’ spark that still panged him. He had hoped she would let go of her hatred and agree to make peace for the greater good. But three years ago she had simply vanished, leaving only a note that said she was sorry, but she couldn’t serve the Autobots so long as they remained allied to the Decepticons. Bulkhead and Ratchet had searched for her, but never uncovered a trace of the rogue femme. Optimus hoped that wherever she was now, she would find some measure of peace, and that there would come a day when she would let go of her anger for good.

Wheeljack, too, was gone, but at least he had given them some warning before leaving. When a firm date for returning to Cybertron had been set he announced that he was leaving the planet, intent on searching for any of his fellow Wreckers who might have survived the war and encouraging them to return home. “No offense, Prime,” he had explained, “but they’re more likely to believe the war’s over if they hear it from a fellow Wrecker than anyone else.” 

A good enough reason, Prime had supposed, and he had given his approval for the mission. Wheeljack had yet to report back that he’d found any surviving Wreckers, but Bulkhead remained hopeful. If two Wreckers had managed to pull through the war intact, there were bound to be others, he reasoned.

Knockout was still looking over the blueprints for the space bridge, making sure everything checked out. Breakdown stood slightly behind him, carrying a tiny red-and-blue form in the crook of one arm. Every so often the sparkling, a femme they had dubbed Breakout, would chirr or squeal for attention, and Knockout would leave off his work to coo some sort of nonsense to her. The sight of the cocky, vain medic, usually so full of sass and snark, lowering his guard around such a tiny mechanism made Optimus chuckle.

Breakout was hardly the only new face among the troops, of course. Several new sparklings had popped up among the Vehicons over the past five years, and as always Optimus had taken pains to learn their names – Johnny, Sasha, Bruno, Marilyn, and Ewan, among others. The Insecticon populations were undergoing their own explosion too, as if they were trying to compete with the Vehicons. The children of both sub-factions didn’t seem to mind, and it wasn’t uncommon to see Vehicon and Insecticon sparklings playing together, under the watchful visors of their parents.

One Vehicon in particular was being kept under especially close watch. Steve, to everyone’s great surprise, was currently with spark by Starscream, and the Seeker was proving to be protective almost to the point of paranoia of the carrier of his child. Right now Starscream stood beside the Vehicon, one arm around his shoulders and the other resting on his abdomen as he checked the status of the sparkling. Steve didn’t seem to mind the attention – if anything, the more Starscream fussed, the more delighted he seemed to be.

Optimus wasn’t sure if the sudden wave of new sparklings was in response to the end of the war – what sane parent wanted to bring a child into the world during a devastating war, after all – or if his and Megatron’s child had been some sort of unspoken permission for others to have sparklings of their own. In the end, he supposed, it didn’t really matter. After vorns without so much as a single birth on record among their kind, the fact that Cybertronians in general were hopeful enough about the future to have sparklings was a good sign.

The most surprising new face didn’t belong to a sparkling, however. It belonged to a bulky green Seeker who stood beside Dreadwing, the two mechs exchanging quiet conversation between themselves. For the first time in recent memory, Dreadwing looked content, even happy. He still remained cool and aloof with most other mechs, and still looked as if he were perpetually scowling even on the best of days. But something about him had softened since they had revived Skyquake, as if a long-festering wound had finally been closed. He was more prone to smile now, and to speak to other mechs with something other than disdain.

Optimus had done everything possible to keep his promise to the blue Seeker… despite the fact that it had almost led to another fight erupting in the base. When they had recovered Skyquake’s body from the shadowzone – and discovered Starscream had zombie-fied it somewhere along the way – Dreadwing had attacked the smaller Seeker and very nearly killed him. Only Optimus’ intervention had kept Starscream from suffering a brutal deactivation, and even now Dreadwing was still unable to look at the flier with anything other than hatred. Optimus hoped that things would eventually calm down between the two, but for now all they could do was keep those two separated as much as possible.

Thankfully, Skyquake seemed to have let go of any old grudges the moment he came back online. While he shared his brother’s stern outlook and strict code of honor, he had his occasional moments of humor, and was more likely to mingle with other mechs. And though Starscream avoided the green Seeker, Skyquake didn’t seem upset with him. The fact that he had no memory of his time as a Dark Energon zombie probably helped, and it was generally agreed that his lapse in memory was for everyone’s benefit.

Optimus took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Everything had worked out far better than he could have hoped. The war was over, and they were returning home… and paving the way for a new generation to inherit the planet.

“Orion?”

“Hmm?” He turned to find Megatron regarding him. “Sorry, I was thinking. Did I miss anything?”

“Just the announcement that Ratchet and Knockout are about to open the space bridge,” he replied. “You still have the keys, yes?”

“Of course. Like I would leave them behind on an occasion like this.” He smiled slightly, squeezing the former gladiator’s hand. “Remember all those vorns ago, when we were still a data clerk and a warrior? When we vowed that someday we would stand on a new Cybertron together?”

Megatron nodded, returning the smile. “It was a longer and harder road than we first imagined… but we made it in the end. I only wish it could have been sooner, before so much energon was shed.”

“I wish so too… but we can’t go back and change it. We can only move forward.”

“Stealing my words again, are you?” He laughed and softened the jab with a kiss to the cheek. “I love you, Orion.”

“And I you, Megatronus.” He raised his voice slightly. “Cascade! Bob! We’re ready!”

“Awwwww…” Cascade looked put out, but she handed back the Vehicon sparkling in her arms to his parents and hurried over. Bob was wrestling with a group of Insecticon sparklings not too far away, but he squirmed out from under the pile and dashed over to join his family.

Megatron stooped down to lift Bob in his arms, while Optimus picked up Cascade. Together, hand in hand, they turned to watch as the gate to the space bridge, and the doorway to a new world and a new life, bloomed open.


End file.
